The journey continues
by blugekko
Summary: Set in the theoretical season 4, a story on new lives and old problems... and how to get everyone back on the plateau!


**The journey continues**

_This is one of those thought journeys set somewhere in the theoretical 4th season. A little something for all of those fans who just couldn't see the Lord and Lady Roxton settling down to a peaceful life on the family estate. Also, all due notice and respect to the powers that be that own the rights – and don't worry too much, I'll return these characters after I've taken them out for a spin :-D_

John Roxton's worst fear was being realized before his very eyes.

"Hold on Challenger!" he called out to the man he'd sworn to follow to hell and back. Challenger didn't have breath to reply, fighting instead to remain conscious as the carnivorous plant he'd fallen victim to continued its merciless attack on him. Vine-like appendages held the scientist fast, one of them had worked its way around his neck, and was slowly but surely squeezing the life out of him as it pulled him closer and closer to the gaping flower-like maw.

"John!" The agonized cry came from Marguerite's throat. She was off to his left a-ways, literally clinging to the cliff face for dear life after scrambling up there to escape the raptors that had cornered them at the rocky outcrop. The same raptors that were now hungrily snapping their jaws a few feet below her crumbling perch.

It had started off as a normal exploratory trip, but had soon turned into a nightmare when they unexpectedly came across the trio of hungry raptors. They had fled towards the rocky outcrop, an incongruous jumble of sandstone like careless dice thrown by a spiteful god – offering hope but rewarding it with disaster. Roxton had been at the rear as Challenger and Marguerite had made for the outcrop, firing off one shot after another but with no success. His arms felt leaden, his aim inexplicably off as the raptors closed in. When he judged his companions to have safely reached the outcrop, he turned only to find matters had taken a turn for the worse. Challenger had been snagged by a carnivorous plant hidden in one of the crevasses, while Marguerite had scrambled up the one rock face only to find herself stranded on a tiny ledge that was crumbling beneath her.

In a blink of an eye the raptors had circled around him, willing to settle for easier prey as they waited for Marguerite to drop down into their jaws. As he watched, her ledge gave way, and only a desperate lunge by Marguerite secured her a dubious hold. "John, help me!" She screamed again, her call for help breaking his heart.

But he stood helpless, paralysed by the choice he faced as his agonized gaze flickered from Marguerite to Challenger and back again. With only one cartridge left, what was he to do? Fire at the raptors and hope to hit one, a desperate effort that only had the slightest chance of distracting the remaining two raptors from Marguerite as they fed on their erstwhile companion? Or did he fire at the plant's gaping maw, hoping to damage it enough so that it would release George?

And then he was out of time. With a last choked scream Challenger was pulled into the maw, just as Marguerite's hand hold finally gave way, dropping her into the certain jaws of death.

"John! Joooohhhnnnn!" her desperate wail echoed back.

* * *

"John! John!"

Roxton's dazed mind struggled to make sense of what was happening to him. How could the woman he'd just seen fall to her death still be calling to him?

"John, wake up!"

With an abruptness that left him speechless for a few moments, reality reasserted itself. Focusing on the woman leaning over him on his left, her dark hair falling like a curtain over her right shoulder and onto the pillow, John took a deep breath. "It was a nightmare," he announced in a voice hoarse with tension.

"I'd say," Marguerite's tone softened as she saw his haunted expression. "And so does half the household, probably." She beamed a gentle smile at him as she gently stroked a damp lock of hair from his forehead. She abandoned any other attempt at levity when he didn't respond, but instead reached for her hand. Cupping it in his, he kissed her palm before dropping her still-clasped hand to his chest. The setting on her wedding band dug into his palm, but he welcomed the discomfort as evidence that he was back in the real world.

Not just any nightmare then, Marguerite revised her opinion, knowing only of one event that could still bring such terror to the man she loved as she felt his heart hammering beneath her cupped palm. But why now? Marguerite frowned as she tried to figure out why the memories of William's death should haunt him now? Over the past four years they'd known each other, she could count on one hand the amount of times the man lying beside her had allowed those painful memories to overwhelm him like this. Or was it perhaps about his mother, having passed away only a month before?

She studied his dark gaze who had remained fixed on her like a drowning man clutching to life. It was disconcerting to see the man she saw as her rock look so shaken.

"Was it about William?" she asked, desperate to ease his pain.

"No," he replied softly, his gaze finally softening just before he closed his eyes. "I dreamt about the plateau… raptors chasing us." When he opened his eyes again, his gaze roved the room as if to reassure himself he really was back home.

"Well, at least you weren't dreaming about my cooking then," Marguerite again tried to ease the tension she could still sense in him.

"Nothing as bad as that," he offered a half-hearted smile. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"I wasn't sleeping too well either. I guess I'm still not used to silk sheets and goose-down covers."

"I'm sure," he drawled, releasing his grip on her hand as he rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the edge of their bed, facing away from her. Pale moonlight filtered in through the windows, outlining his muscular body in shades of grey. It was chilly outside the covers, but John insisted on sleeping with the curtains drawn open most nights, claiming that he felt smothered if the heavy draperies were closed against the night.

Marguerite pushed herself up as well, moving closer and wrapping an arm around him as she leaned closer, her head resting on his shoulder. She desperately wanted to know what had upset him so, but was afraid that any pressure from her side would cause him to draw back. So she waited, offering her wordless support instead.

Smiling softly, John reached one arm around behind her, resting his hand on her hip. They sat quietly like that for a while, silence drawing out as they wordlessly studied the moonlit gardens outside their bedroom window.

A thoughtful frown remained on John's face as he thought of his dream. Being confronted with his worst fear had felt so frighteningly real, having to choose between the two people he felt he owed his life to. If he could, he would have willingly sacrificed himself to save either one of them, and not just in his nightmares. Thinking back to the three years spent on the plateau, he remembered a number of times when fate seemed to decree just that. And every time he had been more than willing to pay that price to guarantee their safety. However, never in that time had he ever been forced to choose between Challenger and Marguerite's lives – a blessing that he was thankful for every day.

"So you're not going to tell me about it then?" Marguerite finally gave in to her curiosity.

"It was only a dream," John replied evenly, his tone carefully gauged to sound reassuring, although whether it was for Marguerite's benefit or his own, he wasn't too sure.

"If you say so," Marguerite made it clear she was still prepared to listen should he want to change his mind.

"I do," he stated more firmly as he gently disengaged himself from her embrace. "I'm just going to get a drink of water from downstairs. Go back to sleep," he urged as he stood up, reaching for his discarded dressing gown nearby. He didn't bother turning on the lights, knowing his way well enough not to have to bother with it.

Marguerite was loathe to let him go, but did so anyway. Both John and she had spent a large portion of their adult lives dealing with problems on their own, and probably would tend to resist sharing some of them even now.

"Don't be too long," she spoke softly as he reached the bedroom door.

"Will you miss me that much?" Roxton turned back, a more familiar teasing lilt evident in his voice.

"Of course," Marguerite smiled, but couldn't help but add, "I need your body heat what with you insisting on sleeping with curtains open and windows thrown wide. Frankly, it's a miracle this place doesn't turn into an ice cave."

Instead of replying, John disappeared through the doorway with a soft chuckle, leaving a still worried Marguerite behind. The very fact that he had not bothered with a reply after giving him such an easy opening for a witty comment did little to reassure her. Marguerite slid back under the covers, pulling them up to her chin as she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the actual temperature. She vowed to stay awake until he returned, but as the minutes crept past her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted off into untroubled sleep.

* * *

John Roxton softly padded along the carpeted hallways of his ancestral home, making his way to the kitchen. Portraits of his antecedents watched his progress with expressions varying from dignified to downright constipated looks, at least as far as John was concerned. He paused to study the portrait of Captain Roxton, perhaps to assure himself that that particular visitor to the lost plateau was still where he should be – safely back in history. Besides the devilish twinkle that the artist had somehow managed to capture to perfection, the portrait was just that – a flat image of a larger than life man.

Shaking his head, John continued his journey, his thoughts once again spiralling back to the plateau and the whirlwind series of events that had led to their successful return to England. He was still amazed that they'd all emerged – somehow a part of him dreaded that there would still one day be a price to pay. This brought him right back to the nightmare that had haunted him tonight, and all the questions still circling in his mind.

Finally reaching the kitchen, he drew himself a glass of chilled water before stopping to stare out the kitchen windows, still lost in thought. Why did that dream feel so vivid? He'd dreamt about the plateau before of course, and its various dangers, but never with this intensity. The only other time he'd had such nightmares had been after his return from Africa, after…

"Is everything all right, sir?"

The unexpected voice nearly caused John to jump out of his skin.

"Geoffrey! Yes, thanks. Everything is fine." He identified the butler, his thin shape illuminated by a flickering candle. Even with all the modern conveniences, the family butler insisted on sticking to some of his old ways. "I was just getting a drink of water," John hoisted the glass unnecessarily in an effort to explain. For some reason, Geoffrey always made him feel as if he was trespassing in his own home whenever he ventured where some might consider 'below stairs'.

"Can I get sir anything else?" Geoffrey showed little intent of moving off.

"No, I've got everything I need. Thank you."

"If sir is sure." Geoffrey's stiff nod reminded John of nothing so much as a bow, and he watched as the butler departed after a final assurance; his long nightgown casting an eerie shadow as he moved off with the candle.

So he really had managed to wake at least one other member of the household, John thought as he sipped some water, his gaze once again drifting to the kitchen window. Autumn was approaching, but the sweet scent of summer flowers still drifted on the night breeze. He inhaled deeply, the scents a faint echo of the almost overpowering aromas of some of the jungle plants on the plateau.

Again the plateau! No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept returning to it. Right, only one way to deal with it then, face it head on. Taking another sip of water, John gave his thoughts free reign. What was bothering him? Marguerite and Challenger were safely back with him in England, Malone and Summerlee safe with Veronica back on the plateau. Malone decision to remain had come as no surprise; after all, he'd made the same choice nearly two years before, and for the same reason - Veronica. Summerlee's decision had been a bit of a surprise, but he could not be budged, even by Challenger's numerous vociferous attempts to do just that.

Roxton smiled, fondly remembering both scientists and their legendary discussions, often forceful enough to shake the monkeys out of the trees.

And Marguerite… when they'd returned to England via some unusual ways, courtesy of Veronica's powers as protector, he'd been half afraid he would wake one morning to find her gone. But she hadn't, and when he'd asked her to marry him, he thought he'd die of happiness when she'd said yes. And here they were, husband and wife for almost six months already, living in a beautiful home with everything their hearts could desire.

Sighing, Roxton looked up at the clear night sky, the northern constellations catching him by surprise for a moment. He'd grown so used to the Southern Cross and the upside-down figure of Orion.

He laughed softly, upside down hunter indeed. What was he doing down here in the when the woman he'd so desperately sought lay alone upstairs in their bed? Looking up at the night sky, he realized he missed it.

Not just the familiar constellations of the southern night sky, blazing forth like a thousand candles above the jungle canopy, or the tree-house that had become his home in so many ways, along with the new family he'd found with it. Rather, it was the sense of belonging that he'd felt while he was there. As much danger as they had faced, it had also given him so much – his wife, for one, and a new chance at life. But he was here now, home, the place they'd all struggled so hard to return to, only to find that it was not quite as they remembered.

Sighing, his thoughts returned to the nightmare. If it weren't memories of the plateau itself that was haunting him, then what? Both the people in his dream were here with him, as safe as they could be in a civilized country. Besides, he couldn't remember having any nightmare like this while on the plateau. Of course, most often he was too tired by the time he fell asleep to probably even remember if he ever did have such a dream.

But the question remained – why this nightmare, and why now?

It was almost dawn when Roxton finally returned inside, quietly slipping into bed beside Marguerite, receiving only a mutter of protest as he disturbed her in her linen cocoon.

* * *

Weeks passed in a blissful parade of summery days for the new Lord and Lady Roxton, social events interspersed with quiet days spent together on the estate. They often went riding together, a way for both of them to escape to their own world for a few hours. Marguerite was an excellent rider, and he loved the way her cheeks flushed during a canter, one or two coils of hair escaping from confinement to ride the wind.

Occasionally estate business kept him occupied longer than he wished, and then Marguerite would set off on her own for a few hours; sometimes into the city, other times to ride on her own, much to the general disapproval of the house staff.

Marguerite chose a route at random, but soon found herself moving in the direction of the standing stones located on the Roxton estate. He had brought her here soon after they settled on the estate, and Marguerite had felt a sense of familiarity as she explored them. Was it possible that these were the stones she remembered playing among when she was young, dancing with her red scarf trailing in the air behind her? She couldn't say for sure, but found an odd mixture of comfort and disquiet in the stones presence. And yet she felt herself drawn to them on her solitary rides, and visited them more often than John probably suspected.

Perching on one of the fallen stones in the outer circle, Marguerite rested her crossed arms on her raised knee as she studied the stones and the countryside. For all the hints and fragments of truth she'd found on the plateau, she still wasn't convinced of who and what she was supposed to be. The reincarnation of a druid priestess? One of a trio of entities, set to repeat their struggle for dominance of the plateau's power through the ages? Or just a simple international jewel thief, wanted on five continents, caught up in a twist of fate much bigger than she could imagine?

Uncrossing her arms, Marguerite leaned backwards, resting her hands on the sun-warmed stone as she lifted her face up to the sky, closing her eyes. Heaven knows, it felt good to be able to relax without fearing an attack by anything from ape-men to killer bees.

Opening her eyes again she studied the stones around her. John's nightmare a few weeks ago had only strengthened her own feelings of unease, feelings she'd kept carefully hidden from him. As much as she wanted to put whatever had happened on the plateau behind her, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything wasn't over and done and as neatly tied off as it appeared to be.

Veronica was the new protector, Ned at her side, and Summerlee there to provide a shoulder to lean on and sage advice. Marguerite smiled, having to admit that she missed all three of them, but probably Summerlee the most. After being unexpectedly marooned on the bloody plateau, he'd been the only one to extend a hand in kindness towards her at first. Funny old man. Their reunion had been wonderful, even though she'd paid dearly for it, and nearly loosing the only man she loved. Marguerite shivered as she remembered that the price for her 'doing the right thing' had apparently included his death.

But here they were, together, and so they bloody well will stay, happily; Marguerite lifted her head, jaw set at a stubborn angle.

"I've paid the price, you hear me, so just leave us alone."

The stones seemed to absorb her voice in an eerie way, not even the sound of birdsong or insects breaking the sudden heavy silence.

Convincing herself that it was time to leave anyway, Marguerite slid off the stone and hurried to where she had tethered her horse, leaving the area as fast as dignity permitted.

* * *

That evening, as Marguerite and John were about to sit down for supper, Geoffrey appeared in his eerily quiet fashion and announced the arrival of unexpected visitors.

"I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but there is a young reporter and his companion requesting to see my lord and lady," Geoffrey didn't actually sniff, but Roxton knew him well enough that he wasn't impressed with the visitors.

"Another reporter?" Marguerite looked amused rather than upset. "I thought we'd managed to scare the last one off a month or so ago with our…what was it again…'impossible tales of monsters'?"

"Yes. I must say I thought we'd seen the last of them for sure," John frowned, still unable to understand why Marguerite seemed totally unfazed by the unanticipated welcome they'd received upon their return. Instead of academic praise and recognition for their discovery, they had instead been greeted by disbelief and accusations of fabricating the whole journey. Nothing they had said or any of the evidence they had brought back with them, including a pterodactyl egg Challenger had brooded over, had been able to sway the rest of the world's beliefs. Roxton and Challenger had been equally outraged, if for different reasons, but Marguerite had suffered the accusations quietly, an enigmatic smile on her face. He still meant to drag the truth from her on day, but so far he'd had no success.

"I could do with some entertainment," Marguerite smile now was almost predatory, and he'd seen many a merchant suffer dearly whenever she got that look. "If you would send them in, please Geoffrey."

"Of course my lady," Geoffrey replied after waiting for John's nod of agreement. "My lord," he sketched another of those semi-bows and glided out of the room.

Marguerite's raised eyebrow spoke volumes about the fact that Geoffrey had sought John's approval before fulfilling her request, but kept quiet, no doubt saving her sharp tongue for the unfortunate journalist.

Refilling his wine glass while they waited, John commented on the unexpected call by the press. "I swear, the only other reporter tenacious enough to stick with a story this long was …" Roxton's sentence was rudely interrupted by an outburst from Marguerite.

"Edward T. Malone!"

"How did…" Roxton realized that Marguerite was in fact looking at whoever had just entered the dining room. "Ned! Veronica!" Unable to believe his eyes, John was nonetheless faced with the sight of two of their erstwhile tree-house companions.

"Surprise," Ned's smile still held all of its boyish charm, even though the relatively innocent lad that had arrived on the plateau had long since grown into a mature man.

"I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this," Veronica also wore a brilliant smile, echoed by the light in her eyes.

Nearly knocking his chair backwards, John hurried over to grab Ned's hand, but changed the offered shake into a hug as he drew his friend close.

"Of course not," Marguerite laughed, drawing Veronica into a more gentle hug than poor Ned was suffering.

"Careful, you'll break my ribs," Ned complained good naturedly at Roxton's enthusiastic welcome.

"I don't believe this, what are you doing here?" John released Ned only to pull Veronica in now. Ned moved to Marguerite, their greeting a chaste kiss on the cheek, followed by an as fervent if not as powerful hug.

"And why didn't you send word that you were here!" Marguerite scolded.

"As I said, we wanted to surprise you," Ned explained amidst the smiles and words of welcome.

"And that you did!" John beamed. "Geoffrey, fetch a bottle of champagne – this calls for a celebration!"

"Of course sir," and with nary a flutter of surprised expression, Geoffrey glided out of the room to fulfil the request. As he closed the door behind him, everyone seemed to be talking at once in the fashion of true friends in joyful reunion.

On his way to the cellars, he dropped by the kitchens and urged to cook to come up with some or other culinary miracle, as there now appeared to be two more guests for supper. He also instructed the steward to prepare two guest rooms, just in case his lord's friends decided to stay over. After all, a butler's duty was to prepare and be prepared for almost anything, including unexpected visitors showing up out of nowhere.

* * *

It was in the early hours of the morning when Roxton dismissed Geoffrey for the night, despite his servant's protests. The four friends were ensconced in the comfortable couches in the library by this time, the conversation still going strong.

"I tell you Ned, you nearly frightened the life out of me when you popped through that door as if you were strolling through Hyde Park." John chuckled as he got up to refill his cognac snifter, offering Ned some more as well.

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as calling our journey a stroll through any park," Ned admitted with a grin. "But it was quite a bit more comfortable than an extended sea voyage."

"Or a balloon trip, I'm sure," Marguerite replied with a smile, legs drawn up on the couch as she toyed with her wine-glass. "As a matter of fact, I remember more than one trip in that supposedly safe contraption that ended up with us spilled out all over the ground."

Ned refused to rise to the bait, but instead just lifted his refilled glass and gave a cheeky grin in acknowledgement of her statement.

Roxton gave a short laugh, once again marvelling at how much Malone had changed. Why, barely three years ago the young man had been liable to fly into an understandable rage at Marguerite's taunts and thinly veiled insults. But now he just laughed it off.

"It might be faster, that's true, but it sure takes it out of me," Veronica barely suppressed a yawn.

An awkward silence followed for a few moments, no-one quite sure of how to answer that statement. Veronica's status as protector of the plateau, along with the inherent powers, were still relatively new, and certainly took some getting used to. After all, how do you suddenly treat a person you thought of as a younger sister who had inherited almost magical powers?

Veronica nervously smoothed her pale blue dress, a hint of the uncertain youngster shining through. As much as she might appear to be in control of her powers and destiny, there was still a lot of uncertainty going around. Veronica was discovering more and more that it wasn't a pure matter of controlling the plateau's power, but rather a symbiotic relationship between protector and plateau, the power serving as a living connection between the two.

"Why are you really here?" Marguerite drawled, breaking Veronica's introspection with her needle-sharp question disguised in a friendly tone of voice. Behind her half-lidded gaze, curiosity burned bright.

"I don't understand…" Ned looked as confused as he sounded.

"Don't try to lie to me Ned, you were never very good at it anyway." Marguerite cut him off.

John opened his mouth to take her to task, but remained quiet when she held up a hand to forestall him.

"You can't honestly expect us to believe you dropped by out of the blue after travelling halfway around the world just to share a meal with old friends. Why are you really here?" Marguerite emphasised her last sentence with a pause between each word as she sat up straight.

Ned and Veronica shared a look that confirmed Marguerite's suspicions.

"Well?" Roxton sat down next to his wife, his own curiosity peaked. Frankly, he too had wondered at the sudden visit, but had been prepared to wait until Ned or Veronica was ready to volunteer the information.

Taking a breath, it was Veronica who answered. Shifting until she sat perched on the edge of her seat, she interlaced her fingers as she began her explanation. "Over the past few months I've been busy learning more about my responsibilities as protector. It hasn't been easy; my mother never anticipated that she wouldn't be there to guide me through the process." Veronica paused, her eyes echoing the sadness she still felt at the recent loss of her mother. Ned rose and walked over to stand beside Veronica, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"But Summerlee and the others have been a great help, and still are, helping me wherever they can." Veronica smiled softly, briefly clasping her hand over Ned's.

Some more than others, Marguerite thought as she studied the intimate gesture between Ned and Veronica. "But…" she encouraged when the conversation seemed to pause too long.

"The more we learn, the more I realize that the world isn't ready for what the plateau really is."

"You mean because they dismissed our claims as mad ravings of a bunch of lunatics?" Roxton asked, his voice more harsh than he intended.

"No, but that only served as additional evidence to confirm our fears," Ned answered.

"What if they believed you?" Veronica spoke again. "What if right now there were hoards of entrepreneurs and businessmen leaving for the plateau right now, ready to either do so-called trade or take whatever it was they wanted? Or someone like Xan deciding that he wanted to lay claim to it for his own purposes?" Veronica's tone of voice made it sound as if she would consider something like that nothing less than rape. "The plateau has no central unit such as the army or navy to defend it against any such offensive. There is only me." Veronica pinned Roxton and Marguerite with her gaze.

"Are you sure you aren't overstating the matter just a teensy bit?" Marguerite tried to disarm the tension with a rather ill-chosen comment. "The plateau does have a lot to offer the rest of the world after all, and perhaps a way can be found to…

"No." Veronica's answer left no doubt.

"What are you planning to do then?" Roxton had spared Marguerite a quick glance before asking the important question.

"I'm going to close the plateau off from the rest of the world."

"You can do that?" Roxton's amazement was evident.

"I'm going to try." Veronica replied.

"Just stop for a moment there people," Marguerite spoke again. "I think we all know trying to leave the plateau is already difficult enough, and finding it in the first place isn't that easy either. But cutting it off completely? And for how long?"

John wondered at this sudden show of concern for the plateau from Marguerite. She was probably the one member of their expedition who most wanted to leave the place and never return.

"I cannot take the chance that just because an invasion hasn't happened yet that it won't happen. And right now I'm not too sure that I could protect the plateau if it did," Veronica was obviously taking her role very seriously.

"What are we talking here…a year or two? Maybe a decade?" It was John's turn to ask. Deep in his heart he'd always hoped to make a return journey at least once more.

"It can't be forever," Veronica admitted, "but I'm not talking about just a decade or two either. But it seems it will be for at least a hundred years."

"Seems? What do you mean?" Marguerite cottoned on to the strange turn of phrase.

"Remember when we had those visitors from the future that somehow broke the time barrier in their 'helicopter'?" Malone made a circling motion with his free hand.

"I remember John going swimming with that woman," Marguerite sniffed.

"And getting punched for being nothing more than a gentleman," John sighed, a resigned expression on his face.

"Besides that," Ned waved it aside as an irrelevant detail. "According to them, they'd never heard of the Challenger expedition or the plateau. Which means that somehow between then and the year 2004, it disappears into legend."

"But how can that be – we did return from the plateau, and even if no-one wants to believe the facts, surely they can't deny its existence forever? If the results from the Challenger expedition aren't recorded in history books, it should at least be recorded in science somewhere!" Roxton argued.

"History is invariably written by the victors," Marguerite mused.

"What?" John turned to her, confusion evident.

"I mean that certain inconvenient truths tend to disappear from sight and memory, given enough effort. Or need I remind you of a certain nobleman accused of treason during the Great War? Or the existence of a female triple agent – preposterous!" Marguerite gave a derisive laugh.

"You mean that just because they don't want to believe, that they will pretend - and succeed - in ignoring the whole matter?" John still couldn't believe it.

"It could happen," Marguerite agreed.

"And apparently did." Ned quipped, earning him an exasperated look from Roxton.

"Which brings us back to my original question." Marguerite steered the conversation back on track.

"We felt we owed you this much, letting you know what was planned." Veronica paused. "And to say our goodbyes."

"Surely not!" John stood up. "Even if you did cut access to the plateau off completely, at least you must be able to…" he trailed off when she shook her head.

"I cannot take that chance. Whenever I or any member of my family leaves the plateau, we put the line of protectors at risk. My powers are linked to the plateau – the further or longer I'm away from it, the weaker they become. What if Mordren's family seized such an opportunity to launch another attack, either directly at me or at my family?" Veronica looked directly at Marguerite, including her in that category. There was no need to remind Marguerite of how Mordren's folk had already interfered in her life, forcing her to grow up as an orphan believing that she was abandoned because of some dark secret.

"So this is it?" John's tone begged them to prove him wrong as he sank back into his chair, but Ned and Veronica both nodded in confirmation.

"When are you … leaving?" Marguerite ventured after a stunned silence.

"We were planning on seeing George next, and then return home," Ned replied.

John looked at Marguerite, tilting his head in an unspoken question.

"If it wouldn't be an imposition, we'd like to come too," Marguerite spoke after giving John a nod.

"It's been a while since I've seen the old boy," John added. "And it would be nice to have a reunion, before…" He trailed off, still unable to believe that he would never see Veronica and Ned again, or Summerlee.

"Of course," Veronica smiled sadly. "If tomorrow suits you?"

"I'll make sure it does," Roxton declared.

"Then I guess we'd better head off to bed," Ned suggested.

"Of course," John led the way upstairs. Geoffrey had seen to it that whatever Veronica and Malone had brought with them had been taken upstairs. Still not quite sure of Veronica and Ned's relationship status, he'd had their suitcases placed in adjoining rooms.

"Malone, you're in here, and Veronica's right next door," John indicated as they reached the assigned rooms.

"Don't worry, there's a connecting door," Marguerite couldn't help but add with an impish look. From what she'd observed tonight, Ned and Veronica were definitely more than just friends, no matter how casual they tried to appear.

"Thanks," Veronica smiled while a feint flush seemed to be creeping up Ned's neck.

"Goodnight you two. See you in the morning," John tried to hide his own smile, taking Marguerite's hand as he moved off to their room.

"Goodnight," Ned and Veronica called out, disappearing through their separate doors.

"Want to bet they'll have that dividing door open in less than five minutes?" Marguerite eyes danced mischievously.

"How can you joke around after what we'd just heard?" John berated her, but had to admit that he wouldn't take that bet under any incentive.

Marguerite's joviality dropped away from her like a cloak. "What do you want me to do, wail in despair? Tear my hair out? Make no mistake; I will miss Veronica, Ned and Arthur just as much as you will. But I can see the logic in their decision, no matter what implications it will have for… all of us," Marguerite hoped John missed the slight pause before her last words. She had her own reasons for rueing the plateau's upcoming disappearance. Although she'd brought back ample samples of gems and other paraphernalia to keep her well-financed despite the Roxton riches into which she'd married, she'd had plans for the future. Plans that would now have to be scrapped.

"I know, I'm sorry. I guess I'm still in shock," John pulled her closer for an apologetic kiss. "It's just that," he shrugged helplessly. "I cannot believe that this is the last time I'll ever see them. After all we've been through, that this is the end."

"It's not the end John, just a different path. You and I are married now, making a life for ourselves here. I know it feels like we're losing our family, but rather think of it as starting a new one." Marguerite cupped his cheek with her right hand.

"When you put it like that," John smiled as he leaned into her touch, but sadness still lingered in his eyes.

"Let's go to bed. Things might seem less bleak in the morning," Marguerite stepped in for a kiss, hoping to draw his hurt away.

* * *

"You want to do WHAT!?"

Marguerite ducked behind her teacup to hide her smile. It was a good thing Challenger had so recently put down his own cup, otherwise they would no doubt be sprayed with lukewarm tea right now.

"We want to .." Veronica started, but didn't get very far.

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time." Challenger waved a hand dismissively. "What I cannot believe is that you are seriously contemplating such a decision. Do you realize the profound impacts not only upon the plateau itself, but also the rest of the world? It has such potential to enrich scientific knowledge, not only botanical and zoological, but the study of humanity in its various incarnations! The mere thought of all the potential discoveries still to be explored that you want to... hide away…it's preposterous!" Challenger harrumphed.

"The risks outweigh the benefits, professor, especially at this stage." Veronica answered calmly, but her eyes glittered with steely determination. Her decision had been made, and no one was going to sway her from it.

"My dear child, have you truly considered all the possible implications from a logical perspective?" Realizing his boisterous tactics weren't going to work, Challenger tried to appeal to her reason.

"I have. And my decision remains the same – the world isn't ready for the plateau, or all of its secrets. Yet." She conceded slightly.

"Professor, trust me – this is no impulsive decision. We've discussed it at length with all the role players back on the plateau, and Arthur agrees with Veronica's decision."

"I would expect nothing less from that over-inflated botanist," Challenger grumbled, but his comment was without sting. Although he and Summerlee had butted heads on more than one occasion, there was hard earned mutual respect for each other as well. And if pressed, Challenger would no doubt admit that he missed the old fellow.

"George, that's no way to talk about your friend," Jessie gently berated her husband, much to his embarrassment and everyone else's amusement.

"Yes, well," George managed to look contrite to his wife while sparing a glare at the others. "When do you propose to go ahead with this plan of yours."

"Within the next month or so," Veronica answered. "There are certain cycles, if you will, in the power of the plateau, and we expect a rise within that period. Considering what we plan to do, I'll need every scrap of power I can get."

"There's still doubt then?" Challenger pounced on the idea, his scientific sense of curiosity intrigued despite his vehement disagreement with the principal of the matter.

"The plateau's power isn't so much just a resource…a power socket I can connect to like a table lamp," Veronica used the first example that sprang to mind. "In some ways it almost feels like a separate entity at times, with a will of its own. It's… difficult to explain," she shrugged in frustration.

"Meaning what, you're not sure whether it will agree to your proposal, or whether it will be completely successful."

"It will happen," Veronica hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. "But I cannot guarantee that it will be completely isolated. Look at the various ways people from all over the planet ended up on the plateau besides the normal climb: the devil's triangle, wandering lost only to appear on the plateau from a different continent like those Egyptians… It almost seems like the plateau has the ability to reach out and draw people from places however geographically distant they are."

"Intriguing…" Challenger's focus turned inward has he pondered this previously unconsidered wrinkle in the mystery of the plateau. And he had to admit, there were many mysteries connected to the plateau that he burned to resolve. Of course, being reunited with Jessie was more than he had started to hope for, but the plateau….

Despite the downright frosty welcome he'd received from his fellow scientists and so-called men of learning, Challenger still felt an inexplicable loyalty to the plateau. In fact, he had quietly started to investigate a return journey to the plateau – there were just too many unresolved issues for him to retire quietly, even if it were to his private laboratory and his devoted wife.

Matters were speeding beyond his control now, but he desperately needed some more time to sound out matters more before making a final decision.

Recognizing that her husband was lost in thought, Jessie played the graceful hostess, carrying on with the social niceties while she waited for Challenger to rejoin them.

When he finally did, it was only to urge them to stay the night before he excused himself and made off to his study.

With a few hours before supper, Marguerite convinced Veronica that she had to see some of London before they left.

"You go ahead, I think I'll stay behind and see if I can coax Challenger out of his shell," John excused himself.

"Well, then I guess it's up to you Ned, to play our gallant escort," Marguerite grinned at the younger man.

"Ah, I think I should stay and…"

"Not scared of running into Gladys, are you?" Marguerite couldn't resist the barb. Shortly after their return, it had been up to her and John to approach Ned's ex-fiancé and break the news to her that Ned was not coming back. Matters had been surprisingly easy, much more so when they discovered that not only had Gladys moved on with her life, but had also married!

"No!" Ned ended up sounding more defensive than he'd intended. "Well, maybe a little."

"Please Ned, you've seen so much of mine, and I'd like to see your world before we leave," Veronica smiled, holding out her hand.

"All right," Ned smiled and led the trio off.

"If you need anything, like perhaps a crowbar to get him out of there, you know where to find me," Jessie smiled at John, leaving him to his endeavour.

"Thank you," he smiled before striding off to face the lion in his den.

* * *

"Oh, John," Challenger looked momentarily surprised when John opened the door after a polite knock.

"I'm not bothering, I hope?" John asked, hovering in the doorway.

"No, no. Come in," George scrambled to dislodge some paperwork and miscellaneous samples that had managed to collect on the chair opposite his desk.

"Keeping busy I see?" John sank into the cleared chair as Challenger moved to his own.

"I must admit I'm still catching up on some of the discoveries while we were away. Bunch of amateurs," Challenger muttered the last bit under his breath.

Roxton wanted to comment, but was momentarily distracted by the view of a bullet hole and splintered wood on the edge of the desk facing him. He'd been there the day it happened; in fact, he'd felt like the intended target of the bullet! It was at the first meeting of the participants in the Challenger expedition, including Miss Marguerite Krux who had just insisted that she would be joining them. He'd made the mistake of telling her that it was a foolish thing for a mere woman to attempt, and she had nearly taken his family jewels as prize to prove him wrong. He must admit, she'd handled the rifle with confidence and had a remarkably good aim. Or so he liked to think whenever he remembered that tense moment.

"Hmmm, sorry?" John realized George had said something while he was wandering down memory lane.

Realizing what John was looking at, Challenger smiled. "It seems like forever ago, doesn't it, when we toasted to our journey?"

"It does indeed; almost a lifetime ago," John mused. "And now this – we seem to be reuniting only to say our farewells."

"Foolish business," Challenger scoffed before sighing. "Truth be told – and this goes no further than this office," he lowered his voice conspiratorially; "I've been contemplating a return expedition."

"Somehow I thought you might," John chuckled. "And while we're being honest – I would've gone with you."

"You would?" George couldn't hide his surprise. "But I thought you and Marguerite were happily settled at your home."

"We are," John quickly responded. "But there are times when I feel that too much has changed since I left. Or rather, maybe I had changed too much to slip back into society and be a typical rich lord."

Challenger was about to make a comment that John Roxton probably was never a typical anything, but then suffered an unexpected bout of diplomacy. Instead he nodded sagely instead, his thoughts returning to his own predicament.

"If only I had more time. From a purely scientific perspective, a return expedition with a few select members would surely have silenced any doubting Thomases. But now I find that the greatest natural treasure house is about to close its doors forever. Or at least long enough to rob me of my validation and any future discoveries that might have some profound..." Challenger trailed off, becoming aware that he was probably preaching to the choir, or at least those members who knew what he was capable of achieving.

"I know," John replied. He had his own reasons for wishing to return – out on the plateau he'd felt a sense of belonging, of finally fulfilling whatever destiny was his. And perhaps to make up for some of the mistakes he'd committed earlier in his life.

"I can't believe that we're just going to stand by and let her do this," Challenger erupted again.

"What other choice do we have but give them our blessings and wave them a fond goodbye," John replied with rising vehemence.

"Well," Challenger eyed his friend squarely across the expanse of the desk. "We could go with them."

The words seemed to echo around the room with unnatural clarity, leaving John in stunned silence for a few moments.

He opened his mouth once or twice, but couldn't quite formulate the hundreds of reasons why it was both a wonderful and terrible idea to even contemplate. He would love to go back, to breathe in that jungle air filled with a thousand promises that each day would be another great voyage through life. It never guaranteed you safety, but it guaranteed that every day would be an adventure in its own right, a constant reminder that every moment was precious, and should be appreciated for what it was. To live free of the confined of so-called society and all its expectations; where a man be who he truly was.

And then there were the reasons not to, and chiefly among them was Marguerite. She'd made it clear on many occasions that if she ever laid eyes on the plateau again it would be too soon.

"From your reaction, I take it that you're not totally opposed to the idea?" Challenger asked, tugging at his beard.

"Me? No. But…" John started, but was interrupted by Challenger.

"No excuses John – just contemplate the thought for a moment. There is still so much left to see and experience back there. So much we could learn."

"Contemplating the thought is as far as I'll go Challenger," John stated firmly. "And so should you. Look at what you have here – safety, stability, your wife." John wasn't sure whether he was listing those things for his own benefit or Challenger's.

"Bah!" Challenger barked, but subsided as if he truly were considering those points. Truth was, he was frustrated beyond belief dealing with the close-minded fools that had the audacity to call themselves scientists. They had ridiculed him, making light of the discoveries that he'd brought back with him, dismissed his findings as the ramblings of a mad man. The mad man from Edinburgh indeed… Besides Jessie, there was nothing that kept him here; and if he could convince her to come along – the possibility was enticing.

"George, I know that look. What are you thinking?" John's voice took on a cautionary tone.

"You're right – I have considered what I have here, but who says I can't take it with me? Or at least the important things."

"Do you honestly think your wife will tag along after hearing what happened to us on our first trip?"

"Jessie is a strong woman – if she chose to go she would be fine."

"You're right, she'd have to be a strong woman to be married to you, but that's not the point. What if she chooses not to go; what then George?" John realised he had raised his voice again, and sat back in his chair, trying to relax. Fighting with old friends and men you'd sworn to protect, even if it appeared to now be from themselves, was never his intent.

"Then I will stay," George replied quietly. The thought of loosing Jessie again was too much to bear. During their marriage he'd often neglected her in favour of his scientific pursuits. To such an extent in fact that he now regretted never having children with her. But as they say, regret always came too late. When he'd returned, he'd apologised to her for his self-centred behaviour, and promised never to abandon her again.

John excused himself shortly after that, in need of time to consider his own thoughts and feelings on the matter at hand.

* * *

A short while later George Edward Challenger faced one of the toughest moments in his life.

"Jessie, I need to talk with you," he managed by way of greeting when he tracked her down.

His wife was sitting in the drawing room, afternoon sunlight spilling over her left shoulder onto her embroidery.

Jessie looked up when she heard her name, smiling to see her husband walking towards her with a determination she hadn't seen in a while.

Pulling a chair closer, Challenger sat down and took both her hands in his. Taking a deep breath, he started his carefully prepared speech. "Jessie, I…" Unfortunately he didn't get any further as Jessie silenced him with a smile and a gentle shake of her head.

"You want to go back to the plateau, don't you?" With that single question she derailed his carefully laid approach.

"Was I that transparent?" he finally managed, an embarrassed smile on his face.

"Only to me, love. Only to me." Jessie gazed into his blue-grey eyes, studying the man she had thought she'd lost forever – first to his career and then to the plateau. But even now she could see that the slightest mention of it had restored him from the defeated shape he'd slumped into over the preceding months.

"You do realize there is no coming back if you change your mind," she advised him.

"I do." He nodded solemnly.

"Well then, I'll let you go back on one condition."

While Challenger was still struggling to formulate his thoughts, Jessie continued. "This time, you're not leaving me behind!"

* * *

It was a rather subdued John that joined the rest of his fellows for supper that evening. Veronica was excitedly chatting about everything she'd seen and experienced in the city, Marguerite and Ned eager contributors whenever she left something out. George and Jessie seemed as animated, leaving John with a preoccupied air about him.

"What, raptor stole your lunch?" Marguerite teased softly for his ears only, instantly regretting her choice of words when John's expression clouded over. "I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me." Marguerite cursed herself for her innate ability to put her foot in her mouth when it most counted.

"I'm fine," John replied, giving her a smile to ease her doubt.

When Challenger called for everyone's attention a while later, John feared the worst.

"Veronica, Ned, and of course Marguerite and John, as happy as we are to have you here with us, I wish it could've been under better circumstances," George spoke quietly but firmly, gesturing with his wine goblet. Jessie watched it with an anxious eye as his gestures nearly spilled the contents on more than one occasion.

"But, as much as we might wish that matters had turned out different, we are now faced with a crossroads where decisions will be made and different paths taken. Veronica and Ned, before you make your final farewells, I have one more proposal to lie before you."

Marguerite turned an enquiring look at John, his tight expression speaking volumes about the matter. He obviously had a fair idea of what was to come, and he wasn't looking forward to it. That was of course besides the fact that he hadn't shared anything with her since her return earlier on.

Veronica and Ned also shared a look, but Marguerite couldn't discern what passed between them. Was she the only one ignorant of whatever Challenger was about to propose?

"Ever since my return to London, things have not quite gone as I had anticipated," George gave a humourless grin, aware that he was understating the obvious. "My reunion with Jessie was of course a highlight, but academically speaking it has been nothing short of a disaster. I fear that my findings and intellect are wasted on my colleagues, and…" Challenger stopped; aware he was wandering off the point. "What I meant to say is that I've discussed things with Jessie, and if at all possible, we would like to accompany you back to the plateau before you attempt to seal it off."

Jessie clutched her husband's free hand, radiating support when he glanced at her for final confirmation.

"This is a one-way trip, professor," Ned cautioned.

"And a decision I urge you not to make lightly." Veronica's face softened as she continued. "But you and Jessie would be most welcome."

Challenger alternated between beaming at Jessie and Veronica. "We are well aware of the conditions of our journey. All we ask is some time to make some preparations, to finalize arrangements for our possessions."

"I can give you two months at the most George. That'll just have to do."

"It will be enough," Jessie answered. "We will make it work, and in time, I promise."

"This calls for a toast," Challenger proposed, still beaming with joy.

"I'll get the champagne," Jessie volunteered, well aware that if she sent George for it they would probably wait until morning, and he still wouldn't have found it. Genius that he was, he could never find the simplest item in their home. Although Jessie often suspected that he pretended to be hopeless at domestic matters on purpose. From all accounts of his tree-house innovations, he could be a dab hand at it if he really wanted to.

"I'll help!" George followed his wife out, chatting animatedly about things they should remember to take with.

"Did you know about this?" Marguerite looked at John first before spearing Ned and Veronica with her eyes.

John shrugged, eyes tight with unspoken frustration.

"We suspected he might," Ned admitted with a guilty smile.

"But it is his choice, and we needed to give him… them," Veronica amended, "that chance."

"This is madness." Marguerite shook her head in astonishment. "Who in their right mind would want to go back to all the running from people and animals intent to make you the main course, never knowing if a simple excursion would turn into a fight for life or death…," Marguerite trailed off, aware that she was getting looks that varied from amused to angry.

"I would, and I am," Veronica responded, frustrated more with herself that Marguerite could still so easily get under her skin.

"For some of us, the benefits outweigh the risks," Malone answered evenly.

"Evidently," Marguerite used her fork to spear a piece of her appetiser with more force than called for.

When Jessie and Challenger returned, the rest of the meal was spent in animated discussion of what preparations to make and what equipment and supplies to bring with. John was unusually quiet, adding a short comment here or there and only when he was asked an opinion. Marguerite handled the situation more gracefully, happy to see the positive effect the decision had on George and the others.

When they departed the next morning, it was with the understanding that they would see each other in a month's time; the start of another journey for some, an end for others.

* * *

"Are you sure it was the protector?" the woman's voice was insistent.

"Very sure my lady," the man's voice held a note of submissiveness that did not seem to fit well.

Neither of the speakers could be discerned clearly, meeting as they were by candle-lit lantern in a hidden corner of a garden. "She resembled your description perfectly, my lady. And she had a young man with her."

"Describe him to me," the woman demanded.

"Fair-haired, blue eyes, with an almost boyish look to him. The lord called him Edward T. Malone, apparently a reporter or journalist that accompanied them on their expedition."

"Him," the voice hissed. "We had hoped that she would make the journey alone." The woman fell silent, as if realizing that she had said too much. "You've done well. Inform me the moment they return – this is too good an opportunity to waste."

The spoke a while longer before going their different ways, the woman disappeared into the darkness while the man made his way back to the Roxton manor.

* * *

"Would you mind making a slight detour?" Veronica tapped John on the shoulder as they neared the turn-off to the Roxton manor. The sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, long shadows filling the afternoon.

"Of course not. Where did you have in mind?" he asked. He'd been unusually subdued ever since Challenger's announcement, and the journey back towards the manor house had been rather strained, with only three people actively participating in any sort of conversation.

"The south-western most grouping of standing stones – the Watchers I think you called it?" Veronica pointed in the appropriate direction. "It's time Ned and I headed back home." According to Veronica, that particular group of stones marked a focal point of some of the energy lines apparently running not only through the plateau, but also the rest of the world, allowing those who could access the power to transport themselves over great distances. John would never have believed it, except that he had already travelled by those means through both space and time on more than one occasion.

"Already?" Marguerite sounded surprised. It was the location Veronica had specified rather than their rather abrupt intent to leave that had startled her. Those stones were the very ones she visited during her solo outings. "I had hoped you would stay for another day or so. I mean, what with…" She trailed off as she caught John's scowl deepening.

"There's only a rough track leading that way, but I'll take you as far as I can." He replied to Veronica's earlier question.

"That's all I need," Veronica smiled. Something was definitely troubling John Roxton, but this wasn't the time or place for her to ask him about it.

The journey continued in silence for a few moments, the ride becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the smooth track gave way to a rut-filled track that meandered past green fields dotted with sheep. At times, the stone-walls delimiting the fields were the only indication that they were actually travelling along the track, and not blundering across grazing pasture.

"And to think I missed automobiles," Ned grinned after a particularly large pothole that sent everyone bouncing around.

"Sometimes technology just isn't a match for the good old ways," John commented, a tight grin on his face. The comment left Ned with the impression that it was meant on more than one level.

Ned was about to query it when John pulled over to the side of the road. "I'm afraid this is as far as I can go without breaking an axle."

"Its fine, thank you," Veronica clambered out, careful not to let her skirt catch on the car frame. As much as she enjoyed wearing something other than her jungle outfit, managing the volumes of material society demanded always made her feel clumsy.

They arrived at the standing stones, and farewells were quickly made as the sun sank closer to the horizon.

"See you in a month's time," Ned called out as he and Veronica stepped through one of the arch-ways, and disappeared in a muted golden glow.

"Somehow I always expect more from it," Marguerite sighed, chattering to hide her unease at being in the presence of the hulking stones. She couldn't shake the feeling that the stones were crouched in watchful patience, hanging on to their words. "It almost seems such a paltry display of pyrotechnics for something so fantastic. One would think there would be mysterious glowing mist, twinkling lights or …" Marguerite realized she was talking to herself, for John was evidently deeply lost in thought as he stared at one of the fallen stones. "Or even flying monkeys with bells strapped to their tails."

"Monkeys?" John snapped out of his thoughts. "Marguerite, what are you talking about?"

"Well, I'm glad to see you're still paying some attention to _some_ of what I say." Marguerite placed herself in front of him, hands on her hips. "But right now, I'm more interested in what you have to say."

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since our visit to George you've been running around like a bear with a sore tooth, and that frown on your face looks like it's trying to become a permanent feature. You've barely spoken three words to any of us on the way back, and I want to know why!" Marguerite's stance made it clear that they were going nowhere until she had an answer. "And don't you dare try to tell me its nothing." Marguerite continued when John's mouth seemed to be forming a word starting with 'N'.

John glared at her in silence for a few moments before he broke eye contact, his shoulders slumping slightly as if he couldn't bear a weight any longer. He turned back to her, but only to take her hand and lead her to one of the low stones where he pulled her down to sit beside him. Marguerite shivered, blaming the cool stone rather than the fact that it was the same one she'd been sitting on during her last visit.

"Isn't it strange how life works out?" John mused.

Marguerite's patience was running short, and his philosophical question did nothing to ease her worries. She took a deep breath though, and instead of reiterating her demand, realized that she would have to let her husband approach matters his way. Instead she squeezed his hand gently, letting him know that she was here for him.

"When I volunteered to join Challenger on his quest, I used the excuse of big game hunter as my reason for going." John's voice barely carried in the hushed silence. "But it was for Challenger's sake I went, to try and make things up to him; as well as escape my own life." He added guiltily. "In fact, a part of me thought that I would die in some gloriously heroic way, hopefully while saving his life. Perhaps then I would've repaid my debt; to him, to my brother…." John gazed out at the grass gently brushing against the one of the stones before them. When he continued, it was while looking over at Marguerite with an intimate smile. "Instead I found a reason to live. You." His generous lips curved in that half-sad smile she'd seen too often before, when he was struggling to understand the often dual-natured 'gifts' of the plateau.

It broke Marguerite's heart to see him like this, and she wanted to reach out with all she had to comfort him. But he wasn't finished yet, and instead she placed her free hand over their clasped ones.

"What more could any man ask for? Don't get me wrong, I know that place nearly killed us a dozen times over, but the rewards…" Sitting like this, he felt content to die right there, happily drowning in the depths of her eyes. "Back on the plateau, there were times when I would've given anything to get us away from the danger, to bring you here where I could offer you the life you deserves, and to share it with me." John's voice barely carried in the hushed silence. There were times when the cost of survival seemed to be too high to continue on paying on a daily basis. And then we came back, and suddenly I had everything I'd ever wished for – a wife who loved me, a home, and more importantly, peace and quiet to savour every moment."

"And yet Challenger doesn't seem to be content with what he has, here and now." His gaze flickered away again.

Realization dawned on Marguerite as he mentioned Challenger's name again. John had made it his self-appointed life task to be the professor's guardian. Granted, at first it had been more out of guilt for sabotaging the professor's research during the Great War, but during the time spent on the plateau it had grown to something more personal and enduring, lasting friendship based on mutual loyalty and respect. And now that George was returning to the plateau while John was staying behind…

"John; you are not abandoning George or failing him in any way!" Marguerite spoke quietly, but there was steel in her voice and a passionate fire in her eyes. "If it weren't for you, none of us would've made it back here at all. Because of you we get to live our lives out as we choose, whether here or anywhere in the world. Do you hear me? It's George's choice, and no one – certainly not him – expects you to watch over him for the rest of either of your lives."

To hell and back, John remembered the precise words of the vow he'd made to Challenger. And at times it had certainly felt as if they were in one of the nether circles of hell. Marguerite was nearly right – but it was not only his loyalty to George that was eating at him. A part of him was also envious of the professor and his imminent return to the plateau. He quickly pushed that selfish thought deep down inside him.

"Life is filled with choices John, and Challenger has made his. You've got your own life to live. With me," she added. Marguerite's own fear of abandonment gave a little quiver inside her chest. Every morning she woke up she felt like pinching herself, just to make sure that everything was indeed as perfect as it appeared. It had taken her a long time to let John into her heart, and if he should ever leave her… she shuddered.

"I'll never leave you," he seemed to read her thoughts, and gave the only correct answer to her unspoken doubt. "Never." He hugged her close, but not before placing a tender kiss on her forehead that spoke more eloquently than any profession of love ever could. But it was good to hear the affirmation in any case, Marguerite thought as she smiled against his chest, taking comfort in his solid presence as he held her to him.

* * *

When John stopped the car on the cobbled driveway sweeping past the manor house, Geoffrey and one of the junior servants appeared at his side.

Feeling slightly reckless after his talk with Marguerite, during which he seemed to have successfully kept his other reason for his bad mood hidden from her, John decided to tease the butler.

"I am glad to see sir, and lady, safely returned," the butler stated by way of greeting as John stepped out of the car.

"Safe indeed. I must say Geoffrey, you should take me up on my offer to let you take her out for a spin sometime," he fondly patted the hood of his automobile. "I tell you, with the rush of the wind and the squeal of the tires, especially when she goes around widow's corner….it's just brilliant!" John barked a short laugh as Geoffrey's expression paled at the mere mention of racing a car around dangerous corners.

"Sir jests," Geoffrey almost sniffed. "I am grateful for the offer, but must decline." Geoffrey looked like he wanted to say a whole lot more, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour. It was not seemly for a nobleman such as his lord to go tearing about the countryside driving a dangerous machine like that. But despite his best efforts to volunteer the services of the official driver, the lord was not to be found on the matter, preferring to drive himself instead.

"Stop it John," Marguerite gently berated him, but loudly enough to carry to Geoffrey's ears when John stepped around to open the door for her. Geoffrey was not amongst her favourite servants at the house, but she was determined to win him over, and having him within hearing distance when she stood up on his behalf might just win her some points.

"Whatever you say, my lady," the familiar mischievous look in his eyes flickered out of existence upon Geoffrey's next question.

"May I be so bold as to enquire about the young couple that stayed with us before your departure, sir?"

"Yes, they returned home," John stated briefly, tossing the keys over to the lad still hovering near the driver's side of the car. "Here, you can take her back inside."

With his face turned away from Geoffrey, John missed the momentary twitch of an eyebrow in surprise at the announcement.

"They had some pressing business to attend to," Marguerite continued, having caught the twitch, and speculated at its meaning. From what John had told her, Geoffrey had been with the family ever since he could remember.

"Of course sir, lady." Geoffrey sketched his nod-bow. "Whenever sir has a moment, my cousin – the one who has applied for the new housekeeping position – has arrived and is ready to be interviewed at sir's convenience."

John nodded distractedly. "Tomorrow morning would be good," he held out an arm for Marguerite before starting towards the house.

"Very good sir," another one of those peculiar little bows followed.

Marguerite kept a smile fixed to her face, but her eyes and ears were wide open. There was something about the man that just rubbed her the wrong way, and her instincts were telling her to keep a close eye on the oh-so-proper servant.

* * *

"Thank you Mrs Laffey, that will be all for now." John spoke, after glancing Marguerite's way to se if she had any other questions for the latest housekeeping candidate.

"Thank you, sir, and lady. When you have reached your decision, just let Geoffrey know - I am staying with our family in town for the next few weeks," Mrs Laffey replied in a crisp English accent. She was middle-aged and slightly plump, but with lively eyes that probably never missed a detail. From her references and paperwork, she was a meticulous worker who took pride in whatever she did. Yet with all those glowing references, Marguerite found herself instinctively cold to the woman.

"I will keep that in mind. Thank you. We do have one or two other candidates to consider, but I promise you that we will contact you forthwith." John probably unconsciously lapsed into a more formal style than Marguerite had grown accustomed to in the jungle. Then again, if something large and toothy were chasing you, proper grammar would probably be the last thing on one's mind. Quite literally, Marguerite smiled to herself.

After the door had closed behind Mrs Laffey, John finished the dregs of his tea, pulling a face at the cold liquid that didn't quite seem to taste as good as he remembered it. He rose from his chair and walked over to where Marguerite was enjoying the last few sips of her mid-morning coffee.

"And? What do you think of her?" he asked as he sat down next to her on the settee.

Marguerite shrugged wordlessly. What was there to say, after all? So far Mrs Laffey was the only candidate who'd actually applied and come for the interview. All the other women who had applied for the job had since retracted their applications, or advised John that they had taken other employment in the interim. The whole affair left a strange taste in Marguerite's mouth, but she had nothing concrete to base her feelings on.

"It's not like we have much of a choice," she finally answered, taking another sip of her coffee.

"That's not the overwhelmingly positive response I was hoping for," John sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck. Ever since the old housekeeper had retired a few days after his mother's death, the house had been in desperate need of a firm hand. Marguerite did what she could, but as Geoffrey had hinted, it just 'did not do' for a lady such as herself to be involved in mere domestic details. Roxton wondered if he'd heard rumours of Marguerite's housekeeping skills in the tree-house. And the damn headache was back again.

He heard Marguerite replacing her cup, and then her strong fingers were kneading the back of his neck. Some of the tension left his frame as he gave himself over fully to her ministrations.

"Better?" Marguerite asked.

"Under your care….always," he smiled, eyes still closed. On and off over the past month or so he'd been experiencing a string of headaches. Coupled with his recent bouts of bad sleep, it was no wonder that Marguerite had accused him of running around like a bear with a sore tooth. But, life carried on, and he had an estate to run.

Opening his eyes, John sat up straight, sparing Marguerite a quick kiss before making his way back to his desk. "I don't think we have much choice at this stage. I'll let Geoffrey know to advise her that she can move into the housekeeper's apartments at her earliest convenience."

Marguerite nodded mutely; maybe the plateau had made her paranoid. Placing a smile firmly on her face, she promised to give the woman at least a chance to prove herself. Perhaps knowing that someone had the household under control would let John relax a bit. Ever since their return he seemed to want to go to inhuman lengths to make sure everything was just right.

"I've got some correspondence of my own to catch up on," Marguerite excused herself, casting John a last worried glance before she closed the door to his study.

"My lady," Geoffrey's greeting nearly startled her out of her skin. The man had the uncanny ability to quietly appear out of nowhere when you least expected it. Especially when one was secretly trying to investigate all the ins and outs of one's new home. Marguerite always felt better when she knew the lay of the land, and even though she wasn't examining the house with an eye on entering it illegally or identifying potential escape routes, old habits were hard to break. Besides, considering that it had been constructed under the watchful eye of John's piratical ancestor, Marguerite was sure that there ought to be at least one or two secret rooms or passages tucked away somewhere. And the butler's propensity to turn up when one least expected it had frustrated her attempts on more than one occasion during the past 6 months.

"Geoffrey," Marguerite smiled in return, gliding past him with an air of dismissal as he entered the study, no doubt to collect the used tea service.

* * *

It was not any normal, friendly correspondence that Marguerite had referred to, but rather an intriguing business proposal she was discussing with some of her previous contacts. Instead of attending to it immediately, Marguerite decided to put it off a while longer and found herself wandering the halls of the house.

It was a solid old house that left one with the comforting feeling of security. Looking at the family portraits, Marguerite felt a sense of comfort and welcome that had nothing to do with the lifeless images staring down at her. Here and there she could see traces of John's ancestry – the generous mouth of a grandfather here, the determined tilt of an aunt's head there coupled with the strong facial features that were handsome rather than beautiful, the dark expressive eyes on a friendly looking young man, but without the twinkle that made him uniquely her John Richard Roxton. She passed through the family section of the mansion, pausing near the rooms traditionally set aside for the current lord's offspring. The rooms were bright and cheerful despite the drawn curtains. Toys were neatly stacked in the central playroom, a rocking horse patiently waiting for a new rider to one side. Stuffed bears shared a spot on one bookshelf, various storybooks filling the rest of the space. There were two separate bedrooms leading off the playroom, and when Marguerite had first explored these rooms, she had had no trouble identifying which room John must've occupied. Everything thing, from a mud-stained hobby horse leaning in the corner to the carved animal figures proudly displayed above the bed told of a young man with an adventurous spirit and a great love of the outdoors. In contrast, William's room was filled with books, puzzles and water-colour pictures showing remarkable detail for being that of a child. Obviously they had moved to more grown-up apartments during their teenage years, but echoes of their personalities still remained.

Marguerite paused in the playroom, trying to imagine the future. She had never actively pictured herself as a mother, her own orphaned childhood and subsequent haphazard lifestyle having left her with a determination never to inflict it on a child of her own.

But ever since John, things had changed. With him at her side, and the security he offered, she was prepared to face the greatest challenge ever of her life – motherhood.

In fact, she was rather surprised that they weren't already preparing one of the rooms for a new arrival. After all, considering the amount of times…. Marguerite nibbled at a fingernail, what could only be described as a naughty smile on her lips as a playful light danced in her eyes. Perhaps it was just as well they weren't expecting, yet. Their lives were still in a state of change, and as much as they loved each other, it would be another major adjustment for both of them.

But still…

* * *

Bright sunshine lit Veronica's apartment, gauzy curtains drifting in the slight breeze that playfully tugged at them.

"This is new," Veronica commented as Ned placed the tea-tray on the table next to where she was comfortably curled up on a large chair, stacks of books spread around her. She closed the one she was busy with, but not before hastily pushing in a loose piece of paper to serve as bookmark.

"I thought you might like a break," Ned's smile was warm and friendly; and exactly the thing she needed after trying to wade through some of Avalon's history. And the tea would be welcome too, of course.

"No, I mean I don't see any coffee on the tray," Veronica returned his smile, placing the book to one side and straightening up.

"Yeah," Ned shrugged, "For some reason I woke up this morning craving tea. Strange, I know, even for this place," he joked.

Veronica's smile widened. "Well, before we rush out of here to get Challenger to look into it, I would appreciate having some tea first – in the name of research, of course." Veronica nodded seriously for a moment before smiling again. She studied Ned as he busied himself readying their cups. She had missed him so much while he had been on his quest, and she was grateful for his return, and every subsequent moment she got to spend with him. True he was not exactly the same man that had left the tree-house in search of himself, but he had returned with a sort of inner peace she envied. It wasn't just that he seemed more mature or sure of who and what he was, but he somehow seemed to be more Ned Malone as well. It was difficult to explain, and Veronica dispensed those philosophical thoughts to instead enjoy the here and now with him.

She followed Ned's movements with an appreciative eye as he took hold of the teapot, only to freeze midway, his eyes open but focused somewhere else. She reached out toward him, only to pause indecisively before touching him. She had seen this happen only once or twice before when Ned was having one of his infrequent visions. She was torn between trying to wake him from his dazed state, and letting the vision finish on its own.

The decision was taken from her when he blinked, looking around in mild confusion.

"Ned. Are you all right?" Veronica stood up, gently laying a hand on his arm.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, carefully replacing the teapot in a distracted fashion.

Veronica took hold of his arm, gently guiding him to sit down on the wide couch just behind them. "Was it a vision?" She prompted.

Ned nodded quietly, a frown creasing his forehead as he stared off towards the window. "I was with Roxton and Marguerite, at their home in England," he explained hesitantly as if he was replaying the events for himself. The moment he'd found himself in that strange hazy-blue setting, he'd known it to be one of the visions that so infrequently assault him. It passed very quickly, leaving him with a confused blur of snatches and half-caught glimpses to sort through. "Marguerite was sitting the one side, with another woman standing behind her. I didn't recognise her, but she made me feel distinctly uncomfortable." Ned twitched, as if trying to dislodge the feeling. "And I was pouring tea for John, or trying to…the teapot felt very heavy, and I could barely lift it." Ned's frown deepened as he tried to fathom the meaning behind it. "And all he did was glare at me, telling me to 'get on with it'," Ned shook his head. "I don't know what to make of it. At least in the past I knew it had something to do with whatever it was I was touching; or it came in a dream, but this…" he trailed off, obviously baffled.

Veronica also wore a frown now, as concerned for the obviously shaken Ned as for whatever his vision might mean.

"Do you want us to go see the professor? He might be able to help," Veronica offered, referring to Arthur Summerlee.

"Maybe, I don't know," Ned shrugged, his focus still turned inward. At this stage he rather wished professor Challenger was here to help him make sense of this, or at least to offer some or other outrageous scientific explanation.

He finally looked at Veronica, giving a wan smile as he patted her hand still resting on his arm. "I'm all right." He offered. "Let me think on it for a while, maybe I'll remember something else that may make sense of it."

And this was probably the primary difference between the old and new Ned. Where before he had sought approval or tried to find his own way by asking everyone else's opinions, Ned now had that inner confidence that allowed him to choose his paths with confidence.

"Suddenly I don't feel like tea anymore," Ned offered a light-heated comment to show that he was truly fine.

"I don't blame you," Veronica replied with a weak smile of her own.

"I think I'll go and get some fresh air," Ned offered by way of excuse as he stood. "See you at dinner?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Veronica assured him, watching him until he disappeared from view. Arthur would be joining them for supper, and perhaps by then Ned would have a clearer idea of what he'd just seen.

* * *

"It's an amazing discovery, even acknowledging where I am right now. And I can't wait to show it to George!" Summerlee announced excitedly at supper. Ned had been lost in his thoughts again, and was embarrassed to say that he had no idea what the professor was talking about.

"I'm sure he would appreciate it," Veronica smiled, laughter in her eyes. They were seated around a large table in Veronica's apartments, the dining area illuminated by diffuse orbs of light at fixed locations around the room's perimeter. Ned had never been able to figure out exactly what powered those lights, but knew that it wasn't electricity. Tonight he barely noticed these intriguing devices, or the way they contributed to the comfortable ambience along with the warm ochre and gold tones of the rest of the furnishings.

Whatever it was that had Arthur so excited then, Ned was sure that it would result in one of the infamous Summerlee-Challenger debates that threatened to lift the rafters in the tree-house on more than one occasion. And he had to admit, it would be good to see George Challenger again. Their brief visit to London had been just that – only long enough to remind him how much he missed the people he had come to consider as family.

"Yes it will be good to see him again. Although I still don't know how he managed to convince that poor wife of his to join him out here," Arthur continued.

"Believe it or not, it didn't take too much convincing from Challenger's side," Veronica replied. "Apparently Jessie had been expecting him to launch another expedition within the next year or so, and this time she was planning on accompanying him."

"A strong woman," Arthur nodded, "But then again, being married to him I would expect nothing less." His whiskers twitched in a smile, feeling justified in his comment after spending more than a year trying to share a tree-house with Challenger. "Frankly, from what you've told me, I'm surprised John Roxton didn't make the slightest attempt to join Challenger."

At the mention of John's name, Ned's thoughts returned to his earlier vision. During the afternoon he had felt a growing sense of worry whenever he thought John. It was as if there was some kind of growing threat hovering over the English lord. Even the mysterious woman standing behind Marguerite had not left him with such a profound sense of worry as the whole teapot incident in his dream.

"I don't think it's up to him professor," Veronica smiled, "I don't think anyone can budge Marguerite from where she is right now; happily married and surrounded by luxury."

"Do you think they'll be safe?" Ned's question startled himself as much as his companions.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked.

"The vision I had earlier today," Ned replied. They'd talked about it earlier during supper, but had then drifted on to other topics after a fruitless attempt to make sense of it.

"The more I think on it, the more I get the sense that John is in trouble."

"Even though the mysterious woman you mentioned is standing behind Marguerite?" Summerlee asked, intrigued by the whole phenomenon.

"She does represent some sort of threat, but it feels more distant to me. Whereas with Roxton," Ned gave a frustrated sigh. "It feels more like it has something to do with the present."

"Could it perhaps have something to do with closing off the plateau?" Veronica asked. It had not been an easy decision, and all the possible consequences still weighed heavily on her mind.

"No… or should I rather say not directly, from what I sensed," Ned replied, surprised to find himself tapping his fingers on the table. At this stage he felt more frustrated with his own inability to make sense of the vision than anything else.

His two table companions had fallen into introspective silence as well. The whole issue of closing off the plateau was an enormous event that seemed to cast longer shadows the closer it loomed.

Severing contact with the outside world would not only make the plateau inaccessible to Mordren's line, but would also mean separating the line of protectors from that of the 'chosen ones'. Veronica had spent many sleepless nights debating the advantages and disadvantages of her decision. At least another energy cycle of death and rebirth was not due for a good few hundred years at least, giving her some breathing space in that regard. But who could even guess at the long-term implications? In all probability, Mordren's people had suffered a sufficient setback through the recent loss of both Mordren and his successor to keep them underground for a good while. Hopefully long enough to guarantee the safety of Marguerite's children, for it was through her that the line of chosen ones would continue. Knowing John was at her side did much to ease Veronica's fears regarding her friend and fellow player in the continuing battle between good and evil. Even if Marguerite's exact position in that struggle was a bit murky at times, Veronica admitted with a wry smile. But to all appearances they were entering a quiet period, a fitting reward after all they had been through as generation's struggle was over. Now they could settle down and raise their children in hard-won peace.

And Veronica was determined to see that happen.

"Is there any chance that this is only a result of the fact that we will be saying goodbye for the last time when we next meet?" Summerlee gently pursued the matter.

Ned took a deep breath before answering, having considered that idea as well. "Perhaps. But I feel there's more to it than that."

"Then perhaps it is a warning;" Summerlee conceded. "One that reminds us that even though we have been victorious, not to let ourselves be blinded by the current peaceful situation. After all, Mordren's folk have tried before to interfere with the course of events, either directly or indirectly with the families of all the role-players."

Ned nodded in agreement. In their attempt to gain control of the plateau, Mordren's folk had gone so far as to make Marguerite an orphan, delaying her destined meeting with her guardian, John Roxton, and nearly succeeding in turning her to their side.

Could they entrust Marguerite and John, and their offspring's safety, to mere hope? And did they have any other choice?

"No." Veronica stated with conviction, answering an unspoken question that had been considered many times. "I will not force them to come here," Veronica placed both hands flat on the table, leaning forward to emphasise her point. "Too many times in my life have I been forced into situations and decisions by others, and I will not do the same to anyone else." Especially not John and Marguerite, who had already suffered more than their share because of the interference of outside forces in their lives.

"We know child," Arthur reached over to squeeze one of Veronica's hands. "Peace."

She flashed him a grateful smile, glad for the support of her friends as Ned added his agreement to Arthur's.

They let the matter rest there for now, out of necessity more than anything else, and tried to give the rest of their delicious supper the attention it deserved.

* * *

Marguerite stalked through the house, anger evident in every step. Any servant that happened to be in her path quickly scurried away, none of them willing to face her displeasure. The fact that Marguerite caught one or two of their guilty and scared glances inflamed her even more. And it was all John's fault!

Over the last few weeks he'd become more irritable and withdrawn, shutting her out and losing his temper at the slightest provocation. And Marguerite was sure she knew the reason – in less than two weeks Challenger and Jessie would arrive at their manor to return to the plateau, courtesy of Veronica and her powers of translocation. And that would mean saying goodbye to old friends, and any chance of revisiting the plateau forever. Or at least for their lifetimes, which amounted to the same thing in Marguerite's mind

And that was the crux of the matter, Marguerite's mouth twitched at her choice of words.

John had never made a secret of the fact that he considered the plateau some kind of paradise. One with large reptiles and the occasional killer plant or forbidden fruit; but paradise nonetheless. And she suspected that if they had never managed to return to the civilized world, he would've been just fine with it. But now any chance of return was about to become obsolete.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Marguerite was sure that a part of him wanted to return to the plateau, even if it was forever. And she couldn't shake the feeling that granted the opportunity, he would do so without hesitation… if it weren't for her. Why couldn't the man just settle and enjoy what life they had here, together?

What irked her most was that he never even discussed the possibility of accompanying Challenger and Jessie on their one-way trip with her, assuming that he knew her answer already. Not that she would've agreed on such a foolish venture in any case, but the fact remained that he hadn't sought her out to even discuss the idea. Who did he think he was to make decisions regarding their life together on her behalf? Just when she thought she'd finally found a partnership based on love and mutual respect, he turned out to be just like any other man, caught up in his own sense of importance. Typical! Marguerite continued her internal tirade while storming towards their bedroom, intent on changing into riding gear and setting off for a breath of fresh air. But she froze in her tracks when she noticed light spilling through the open doorway of the children's apartments.

Curiosity perked, Marguerite drifted closer, intrigued to a breeze on her face as she stepped through the doorway.

"Mrs Laffey," Marguerite's greeting came out sounding hostile than she'd intended.

"My lady," Mrs Laffey curtsied, dusting cloth in one hand. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but these rooms haven't had an airing in quite some time, and I was thinking, maybe," She trailed off in the glare of Marguerite's gaze.

Marguerite sighed, biting down a barbed reply that had nothing to do with the housekeeper's actions, no matter how bold her implied assumptions were. Besides, the way she felt right now, any future child would have to be the result of an immaculate conception. Not that John had even so much as looked at her in any romantic way during the last few weeks. He hadn't been sleeping well though, and the plagues of headaches…wait a minute, why was she now making excuses on his behalf?

"No, of course not," she replied quickly, smoothing her features as she realized Mrs Laffey was looking at her with a very worried expression. Becoming aware of a pleasant yet unusual smell that permeated the room, Marguerite looked around and spotted some incense burning off to one side.

Following Marguerite's glance, Mrs Laffey started to explain its presence, but Marguerite held her hand up to forestall it. It was an intriguing scent – sweet, but not cloyingly so, and for some reason it brought forth an almost child-like feeling of safety, and home.

"I don't recognise it… vanilla maybe?" Marguerite asked as she walked closer, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Among other things," Mrs Laffey smiled, her eyes flashing cold as Marguerite turned away from her. "It's a special blend of extracts, a unique combination that's long been in my family. You could almost say it is a closely guarded secret."

Marguerite inhaled deeply, finding the tension of her most recent non-argument with John slipping away. "As long as you promise to never forget that secret recipe, you're welcome to keep it," Marguerite turned back to smile at Mrs Laffey.

"If you'll pardon me for asking my lady, is everything all right?" the housekeeper seemed to radiate nothing but concern and kindness.

Marguerite turned back to study the gently wafting incense smoke. One could lose oneself in the aimless twists and turns as the smoke curled about itself. With a start she realized that she longed for someone to share her thoughts and doubts with, someone like Arthur Summerlee. The kindly old gentleman would no doubt listen and understand, perhaps even highlight some insight that she might've missed. Usually that person would be John, but of late…

"Everything is fine, thank you," Marguerite turned, gracing the housekeeper with an apparently sincere smile before walking out of the room.

Mrs Laffey's smile vanished as soon as Marguerite was safely down the passage. For a moment there she had been just about to break through an important barrier with Marguerite; becoming more than a mere servant. If their plan were to succeed, Marguerite would have to learn to trust her. Unfortunately, that appeared to be a more difficult task than anticipated.

Mrs Vivian Laffey, or Viviane La Fay as she was known amongst her kindred, renewed her dusting with perhaps more vigour than strictly necessary. She could easily delegated this task to one of the other servants, but she had a special aim in mind; establishing an early link between herself, Marguerite and these apartments, as well as any future offspring.

Her line had tried to influence that of the chosen one's before, even going so far as to separate Marguerite from her parents in an attempt to gain control, and had failed. Now it was Viviane's turn, and gaining Marguerite's trust was an integral part of her plans. She was to become more than just a housekeeper or children's minder, but a confidant who could play a major role in the household to influence the chosen one's offspring. That would allow her line to pave the way for a more successful outcome at the next cycle of the plateau's power. As the old adage went: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

And as soon as Lord Roxton obliged everyone by siring a child, his role as guardian would come to a rather abrupt and permanent end.

* * *

Time slipped past, leaving its passengers with the impression that it rushed through some days and dragged through others.

The Challenger household was in an uproar as the date for their departure grew closer. They had made it known that the professor and his wife had decided to retire to a small home in the Scottish countryside, ostensibly to get away from the hectic life of London. Challenger's fellow academics and members of the scientific community rather saw it as an admission of guilt as the mad professor was obviously trying to retire into obscurity after the lost world fracas. Dinosaurs, indeed!

Challenger was tempted to let the bear the brunt of his temper whenever the rumours made their way to him, but Jessie was at his side to soothe is fury away.

"It's better this way, George. Now no-one will come looking for us near Edinburgh, only to find us vanished." She offered. "Have you heard from your solicitor yet?" She would neatly divert the topic as they set about selling their house, taking care of any legal arrangements while trying to decide what to take with and what to leave. Whatever was finally crated would then supposedly travel by road to Edinburgh, but instead to the Roxton manor where it would be transported along with them to their new home.

At the Roxton household, things were no-less tense, but for different reasons. Too many unspoken words and chilly silences hung between the lord and lady, aggravating on an almost daily basis as the departure date grew closer and closer.

Even their shared bed was a lonely place, John lying awake most nights, staring at the ceiling in hopeless pursuit of sleep while Marguerite lay curled up on her side, desperately wanting to reach out and be reached out to in turn.

A week before the planned rendezvous date, an unexpected visitor turned up at the Roxton mansion.

"Ned!" Marguerite's greeting was enthusiastic when he was shown to her study. "What are you doing here?" She smiled, impulsively reaching over and hugging him to her.

"Can't an old friend just pop in for a visit?" Ned asked, blue eyes alight with laughter.

"Of course, if he doesn't happen to live halfway around the world!" she laughed.

Ned wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but something seemed off. Even Marguerite's laughter had an artificial quality to it.

"Geoffrey, could you see to some coffee please?" she instructed the butler before turning back to Malone. "Sit, sit," she gestured to the comfortable sofa beside the tall windows overlooking the manicured gardens. "Despite my best efforts, John insists on sticking to his tea, leaving no-one to enjoy it with me. And I hope you realize I place all the blame squarely on you, Malone," Marguerite referred to the fact that it was the young American that had gotten her hooked on coffee.

"I don't mind, if that's all you're going to blame on me," Ned smiled. "How is it going this side? Has George's provisions started arriving yet?" he asked, trying to feel out the situation. Truth was, checking on the final arrangements was a poor excuse for his true reason for visiting. His unease regarding John Roxton had only grown over the last few weeks, and it had only been with Arthur's help that he'd finally convinced Veronica to open a gateway for him here.

"By the crates! You'd swear he was moving the whole of London!" Marguerite gave an ironic laugh. "John can probably tell you more. He's having it stored in one of the old barns as it arrives. He should be back soon, he went out to check on livestock in the further pastures, and is probably yelling at some or other poor sheepherder right now," she shrugged, her smile slipping.

Ned was about to ask if anything was the matter, when the Englishman in question could be heard approaching.

"Marguerite, I know you're in there. Have you seen…!" the half-shouted question ended abruptly as Lord Roxton pushed open the door to find Ned Malone on the other side. Along with his wife.

"Ned old boy! This is a pleasant surprise," Anger and perhaps a flash of jealousy vanished to be replaced by sincere joy. "Aren't you a bit early though?"

Ned was taken aback by the changes in John. Not only had he never heard him shout at Marguerite like that, or her apparent acceptance of it, but the man before him looked like he'd lived through hell. There were dark circles under John's eyes; his clothes seem to hang loosely, mutely testifying to a certain amount of weight loss while unusual intensity burned in the lord's dark gaze.

"Good to see you too!" Ned responded though, hiding his surprise well. "Yeah, I thought I'd drop by a bit early, just to make sure Challenger doesn't try to take everything with him this time. The plateau is only so big."

"And he appears to be doing just that. I swear, I don't know how Veronica's going to shift all that rubbish for him," John barked a harsh laugh.

The study door re-opened to admit the butler after a brief knock, silver coffee service – including an ornate teapot – in hand.

"Let me," Ned volunteered after the butler had disappeared as quietly as he had entered. John's hands were indeed still dirty as he had apparently walked inside after a morning in the fields, while Marguerite seemed glued to her seat. As a result, Ned was unexpectedly caught by the eerie feeling as the scene from his vision unfolded before his eyes. Minus of course, the mysterious woman behind Marguerite. His hands shook slightly as he lifted the teapot, blaming his recollection of his vision rather than the weight of the teapot, which seemed perfectly normal given its size.

"Thanks Ned," John accepted the cup, "Are you all right? You turned pale there for a moment."

"Fine, thanks," Ned admitted even though he felt substantially less than fine. He poured coffee for Marguerite and himself next, trying to puzzle matters out. Why had the vision been of this particular moment? What was so important that he was missing?

"I think I'll let you two gentleman talk for a while. Ned, I assume you'll be staying for a day or two?" Marguerite was playing the ultimate hostess.

"Until Challenger leaves, in fact. If that's all right with you?" Ned looked to John and Marguerite for confirmation.

"Of course. Marguerite, see to it won't you?" John uttered what could not be mistaken for anything but a dismissive order.

What surprised Ned even more was that Marguerite nodded meekly, a tight smile betraying her inner feelings before leaving. Something strange was definitely going on here.

* * *

"The journalist is back," Geoffrey announced under his breath as he passed Mrs Laffey in the kitchen.

A twitch in her eyebrow was the only acknowledgement of the news. His return was not unexpected, but it was sooner than they'd thought it would be.

From what Geoffrey had managed to overhear from his quiet lurking about the house before her arrival, the Protector and the journalist had appeared as if from nowhere almost two months ago, and disappeared just as quickly after a mysterious meeting in London somewhere.

From her own sources, Mrs Laffey had established that while in London, they had visited the other member of their erstwhile expedition – Professor George Edward Challenger. Her informants had kept her apprised of the situation in the Challenger household, and the surprising news that they were selling off their house and moving to the countryside near Edinburgh. This seemed entirely plausible, if not coupled with the news from Geoffrey that they could expect a return visit from the Protector at the same time as Professor Challenger and his wife was to stop off at the Roxton manor for their final goodbyes.

Speculation had been rife, and several of Mrs Laffey's family members had argued that this necessitated a rapid increase in their own actions to see their master plan succeed. But Viviane had argued against it as her relationship with Marguerite was not as strong as she'd hoped. If there was even the slightest chance that the chosen one and her guardian were about to pack up and leave for the plateau again, their plans would be in ruins.

Luckily, nothing suggested such a move – Lord and Lady Roxton seemed content to live their lives as if nothing untoward was about to happen. No travel arrangements were being made, no equipment or supervisions purchased and stored…nothing.

Yet Viviane could not allow herself to relax until after the Protector's upcoming visit. And now the journalist had arrived, bringing with him a measure of doubt. Why was he here?

"The lady might wish to speak to you regarding arrangements for her guests," Geoffrey spoke mostly for the benefit of the other servants within earshot.

"Well, lead the way Geoffrey, we can't keep her waiting," Mrs Laffey replied, dutifully shuffling off to see what her employer might need.

"I managed to overhear something else just before I entered with the refreshments – our suspicions are proving true – it seems that the Protector will arrive shortly to open a way for the professor and all the crates he had delivered here." Geoffrey managed to speak quietly and almost without moving his lips.

"But why go to such lengths to hide the professor's departure? And why here – the easiest way to the plateau would be as they went in the first place – by ship?" Viviane mused out loud, her words just as quiet as Geoffrey's.

"I don't think they plan to use the normal route," Geoffrey replied, then lowered his voice even more. "The stones."

Of course! But the fact that the Protector would make use of the plateau's powers to travel bespoke of a certain urgency.

Geoffrey slid off on an errand of his own, leaving Mrs Laffey to carry on towards the study. She was just in time to come upon Marguerite's shape leaning against the wall outside the study door.

"A few more days, only a few more days, then it'll be all over. It has to be." The words that left Marguerite's lips sounded more like a fervent wish or a prayer than a simple statement of fact.

"My lady? Geoffrey said you might have need of me?" Mrs Laffey made her presence known.

Marguerite angrily wiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to the housekeeper.

"Indeed I have. It appears we'll have Mr Malone staying with us for the next week, and we're expecting Professor Challenger and his wife in a few days time as well." Marguerite spoke as if nothing was wrong.

"Of course my lady, if there is nothing else, I will take care of matters." Mrs Laffey gave her an encouraging smile.

"No, nothing right now. Thank you," Marguerite moved away, again breaking contact before Viviane could work on gaining her confidence.

The woman was more slippery than an eel, and even more dangerous, Viviane mused to herself. A week then, at the utmost, before the Protector arrived. And what then? Only time would tell, but there were preparations to be made. The chosen one must not be allowed to leave for the plateau again! Viviane made a mental note to seek out Geoffrey and ask him to decrease the lord's dosage a bit for the next few days. They did not want to arouse sufficient suspicion for his friends or wife to launch a detailed investigation into the root of it.

* * *

Over the next few days Ned did his best to get to the bottom of matters, but to no avail. John's startling change in personality was a shock to say the least, but whenever he asked him directly about it, John always waved it aside, even changing the subject or excusing himself on business if Ned pursued his line of questioning. Marguerite was even less helpful, her answers always evasive, blaming some or other vague problems with running the estate. How could two people that had been so obviously in love only a few months before be acting like strangers towards each other now?

When George and Jessie arrived two days before their scheduled departure, Ned hoped to get the professor's help in getting the bottom of matters. His first opportunity to speak to George alone came shortly after their arrival, when the scientist demanded to take a personal look at the crates that had been delivered.

John had gone off to town that morning to take care of some legal property matters, and missed the professor's arrival. Jesse accepted Marguerite's offer to stay in the house, leaving Ned and George to hike the short distance to the barn in rather windy conditions.

"I hope this clears up before we have to leave," George studied the direction of the clouds as they drifted along. "We might be in for a storm."

"Nothing like what we've seen on the plateau I think," Ned grinned.

"I shouldn't think so. The circulation at this latitude, coupled with the absence of the updrafts so characteristic of the plateau's edge… "Challenger became aware that Ned was looking at him with a widening grin, and gave him an embarrassed smile. "It seems I am still too easily caught up in the marvels of nature."

"That's why we need you George," Ned's grin fell away. "And I do have need of your scientific expertise."

"Oh, how so?" George asked as they continued to pick their way towards the barn, wind chasing dust and fallen leaves before them.

"It's John." Ned fell quiet as they struggled briefly to open the barn door. Once inside, he continued. "Something's wrong Professor, and I'm not sure what it is." He quickly outlined the vision he'd had, as well as his observations of John's deteriorating health and mental state.

"What about Marguerite – is she displaying similar symptoms?" Challenger was now in full analytical mode, tugging thoughtfully at his short beard.

"No. From what I can see she's upset about his behaviour, but seems determined to work through it on her own."

"Most intriguing," Challenger mused. "You don't believe it has anything to do with our imminent departure? After our time together on the plateau, I think we have all become more than mere companions. And to be faced with the permanent loss of what on might have come to consider as family members?" George posed the question to Malone.

"Perhaps, but I still think it's more than that." Ned replied, shaking his head. "Watch John tonight, and then tell me I'm still imagining things," he maintained.

"All right," Challenger agreed, worried by this new development. If John was ill, then perhaps he could diagnose the problem before they left; or at least set John's mind at ease about the future, if that turned out to be the origin of his strange behaviour.

* * *

Coming face to face with John Roxton turned out to be a startling experience for Challenger, even if his friend's appearance wasn't quite as haggard as Ned had made it out to be. John did look in need of a good night's sleep though, and there was no way to miss his short, almost brusque, manner.

"Open the good wine Geoffrey, hell knows it'll be a while before we have something else to celebrate," the Englishman called out as they sat down for supper.

Marguerite shot John a cautionary glance, probably as a warning to watch his words, but he chose to ignore it. What was the woman on about now? Could he not even have wine from what was after all _his_ wine cellar? And they were with friends for crying out loud, enjoying what was probably one of the last meals together.

He threw Marguerite a dangerous look while Geoffrey poured the hastily brought wine. What was wrong with her these days? All he wanted to do was share his life with her. He'd even gone to the family lawyers this morning to have the estate registered in both their names. And what did he get in return? Dark looks and a cold shoulder. Or rather make that a cold rump in bed. Not that he had the energy to do justice to any attempt at making love. He withdrew into sullen silence, leaving the rest of the dinner guests to carry the conversation.

His actions did not go unnoticed though, even though no-one commented on it. Were this the tree-house, no doubt someone would've taken him to task. But this was England, with all its society rules and regulations, both spoken and unspoken, and one did not take one's host to task at the dinner table. He wished… Taking a deep breath, he rejoined the conversation, to all appearances an impeccable gentleman without a care in the world.

* * *

Matters finally came to a head in the master bedroom that evening.

"John, what's wrong," Marguerite steeled herself. This time she was not going to let him get away with petty excuses or making as if nothing was wrong.

"Why are you always on at me? Nothing's wrong, besides the fact that you won't let me be!" John was in the process of undressing for bed, but stopped as if he was reconsidering.

"Don't you dare tell me that! You're hardly sleeping, you've lost weight, your headaches are getting worse. And when I express my concern, you accuse me of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong!" Marguerite's eyes brimmed with tears as she placed herself in his line of vision. Actually speaking the words brought all her suppressed emotions to the surface. "Now if you honestly want me to let you be, look me in the eyes and tell me that nothing's wrong. And I will pack my bags and move out, because you obviously don't want me here," Marguerite's voice dropped, becoming hoarse with emotion.

As she spoke those words, John felt his world crumbling around him. "Marguerite, no!" he pulled her toward him, enfolding her in a powerful hug as if he trying to draw her into himself. "I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean to hurt you."

As much as her heart broke hearing him confess those words, it also soared as she heard _her_ John in them.

"What's the matter?" she asked again, softly this time when they finally drew apart far enough to look into each other's eyes.

"I don't know," he sighed, shaking his head. "Everything feels as if it's slipping away from me; and the more I try to hold on to it, the faster it slips away. Maybe I am sick, but I've been to see the doctors in town, and they can't find anything wrong. Perhaps it is just that I'm losing so many of my friends at once; even if it is to a place they want to be." He paused before continuing in a barely audible whisper. "And if I can lose them so easily, then maybe you will be next."

"You promised never to leave me John, to always be there to watch over me." Marguerite couldn't believe that he could harbour even a shred of doubt regarding her commitment to him. And why did he feel that he had to sneak off to the doctors without telling her. She knew he liked to think of himself as infallible, but there was no need to take it that far. "And I promised to stay at your side until death us do part, remember. And even then I'm not too sure that that could keep you away." Marguerite smiled softly, waiting to see his response.

Instead he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her neck, just below her right ear. "For you, I would kick down the door to heaven so I could follow you." He whispered into her ear before continuing his exploration of her neck with his mouth.

"If you carry on like that, I might be tempted to think I'm there already," Marguerite sighed, luxuriating in his touch that had been absent for far too long. She meant to ask him about the fact that he kept his visit to the doctor secret, but was pleasantly distracted by the tickle in her neck as he laughed softly against her neck.

She became even more distracted when he drew her down on the bed beside him, capturing her mouth with his own as he made up for lost time.

* * *

"Well, someone is certainly in better spirits today," George commented under his breath as a smiling John and Marguerite finally joined them at the breakfast table.

"Are you all right?" Ned couldn't hide his astonishment at Roxton's sudden improvement.

"Why wouldn't I be? My apologies if my behaviour offended anyone. With all that's happening, I guess I just pushed myself too hard, trying to forget that we'd be parting ways soon." John seemed sincere in his apology.

"Yes, but-" Ned tried again.

"But nothing Ned. Or at least nothing that a good night's 'sleep' couldn't cure," John flashed Marguerite a look that positively dripped with double meaning. She returned his smile with an impish one of her own; leaving no doubt that whatever had been amiss between them was being mended.

"All right you two," George chuckled. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better John. Now, to business," George effectively hijacked the breakfast discussion as they fleshed out the plans for the next day.

John had purchased two wagons on George's behalf, and offered four of his estate's own horses to pull them. "Consider it a gift Challenger," he waved aside the older man's protestations. "Something to remember us by."

"As if I could ever forget you or Marguerite," Challenger replied, thanking him for the generous gift. The rest of the day passed in a blur of packing and loading the wagons, ready to depart the moment Veronica arrived.

* * *

The next morning - George, Jessie and Ned's last in England - breakfast was a much more subdued affair.

"I forgot to pack extra tea," Jessie realised with a start as they were finishing up.

"Not to worry dear, the Zanga managed to supply us with a good replacement while we were on the plateau." Challenger patted his wife's hand.

"Yeah, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think it actually tasted better than this," Malone pulled a face at the cup he was holding. "I think I'll stick to coffee from now on."

"Don't blame me if the English water is too strong for your American tastes," John teased Malone, although he had to admit, he'd often thought the same thing of late. Perhaps he should speak to Mrs Laffey about trying another brand.

"I don't think this tea was brewed with water," Ned joked in return, pulling another face. "What did you say you used all your horses for?" Ned ducked as John threatened to throw his napkin at the younger man.

"Watch your words Neddy-boy, or I'll make you pull a wagon through whatever gateway…" he trailed off hurriedly as Geoffrey entered the room.

"Miss Veronica Layton and professor Arthur Summerlee here to see you, sir," the butler announced in his customary droll manner.

"Well, don't just stand there, let them in!" John rose with the others, smiles and joyful greetings all around when Veronica appeared, and even more so when Arthur followed in her footsteps.

"You didn't think I would just let you disappear without saying goodbye," the kindly old gentleman greeted the cheerful welcome with aplomb and a twinkle in his eye.

"It's good to see you again Arthur," Marguerite was probably the happiest to see the botanist, having shared many a private discussion with him on the plateau before his abrupt disappearance.

"I missed you," Ned held Veronica's hand a bit longer than was strictly necessary after greeting her with a warm hug.

"And I you," she returned, a dimple framing a smile just for him. They were so absorbed in the moment that they missed the looks passing between their friends. It seemed that soon the plateau will be responsible for the linking up of another couple.

While the men oversaw the final loading arrangements, the women took care of packing the last few personal belongings. Marguerite also added a whole chest full of gifts for both Jessie and Veronica, including anything from bolts of cloth to other odds and ends she had often wished for while in the tree-house.

The mood saddened as they day drew to a close, and various stories and events were relayed with a certain determination, as if everyone wanted to share and remember as much as possible before the inevitable goodbyes.

The sun was approaching the horizon when they arrived at the standing stones. The promised storm had apparently passed to the south, distant thunderclouds marking its passage as the wind plucked at everyone's clothes in a fitful manner.

John and Marguerite rode individual horses while Ned, Veronica and Arthur were responsible for the one horse-drawn team, and George and Jessie the other. The time of departure was chosen so that there was little possibility of outside observers, while still providing enough light to traverse the road safely.

"Have you got everything you need?" John asked for the umpteenth time, more out of want to make conversation than actually expecting an answer. His and Marguerite's horses were tethered just outside the circle of Watchers.

"We do," George replied after sharing a glance with Jessie.

"Then it's time," Veronica stepped into the circle, leading the way through a pair of stones just wide enough apart to allow the wagon's through.

"Marguerite?" Veronica turned to her friend. "Will you help me? It'll be easier if I don't have to do this by myself."

Marguerite glanced about apprehensively. Once again the watching stones did nothing to soothe her unease; a rumble of thunder sent her shivering. Every time she came near them these days, it felt as if she was standing on a knife-edge, poised on the brink where a single miss-step might lead to disaster. The threatening skies to the south were not helping either, and it seemed to be drawing closer. And there were the stones themselves; leaving her nothing so much as a feeling that were waiting for just the right moment to spring a trap on her.

Unable to think of a valid excuse besides her amorphous fears, Marguerite licked her lips nervously and approached Veronica. With everyone watching there was no way to back out now, and the sooner she could get this over with, the better.

"As long as you promise not to accidentally pull me in along with everyone else, I'll help."

Veronica gave a comforting smile as she caught the uncertainty in Marguerite's voice. She was all too well aware of Marguerite's feelings towards the plateau. "We'll only open a gateway, I promise."

Standing opposite each other, Veronica extended one hand, palm up, clasping Marguerite's wrist as the brunette took hold of hers. They duplicated the clasp with their free hands, except that now Veronica's was on top. It was an odd tableau of shared power that forcefully reminded him that there was much more to Marguerite than met the eye. Whenever he thought he knew her as well as anyone could hope to, there was always another surprise lurking.

An almost imperceptible glow began to surround the two women, with a slight variation in its colour becoming evident as it strengthened. Veronica was surrounded by a diffuse golden glow, while the air around Marguerite was suffused by a dark, yet soft, reddish glow. Time seemed to be suspended as a soft chanting could be heard coming from Marguerite's lips, and the diffuse glow around the two women seemed to expand to fill the whole circle.

"Morrighan," John breathed, eyes fixed on his wife.

"And the Protector – a more powerful combination is hard to imagine." Arthur whispered as quietly.

"Obviously," Challenger harrumphed. "Look what happened to the plateau the previous time those two unleashed their powers." He was torn between studying the phenomenon manifesting around the circle and watching the two women.

"George," Jessie clung to her husband's arm as the glow intensified, becoming more solid. It seemed as if the very air was alive with power, an experience both awe-inspiring and invigorating at the same time.

"Astonishing," George breathed, giving Jessie's hand a distracted pat as he found himself caught up in the unfolding tableau.

"And beautiful," Ned added from Challenger's far side, his blue eyes wide as if he tried to take everything in at once.

Thunder echoed nearer, as if agreeing with his point.

Someone outside the circle evidently disagreed though, as rifle-shots echoed amongst the stones just as the glow contracted into a doorway on the far side of Veronica and Marguerite.

"Everybody down!" John yelled, shouldering George and Jessie to the ground before moving on towards Marguerite. He was afraid that the two women might be so caught up in the power they were manipulating that they might not notice the shots before it was too late.

Ned reached the women before John could, dropping down next them and Arthur as gunfire pinned John behind one of the boulders midway. The horses were panicking, straining against their harnesses and the wagon brakes to get away from the danger. The two horses outside broke their tethers and set off for home at a gallop.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Marguerite complained in a frustrated wail. The feeling of dancing on a knife edge was replaced by that of vertigo as she felt herself falling, the threatening wave of destiny was about to crash down.

"It's open!" Veronica called to her friends. "We'll be safe on the other side!"

Marguerite glanced up to confirm Veronica's words; the gateway was indeed open, and ready to swallow the travellers. All of a sudden she was a little girl again, playing among the standing stones and burial mounds of Avebury. The same little girl that was snatched away from her comfort zone and forced into a life not of her choosing. She huddled down again, trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible. Maybe this time it wouldn't find her.

George and Jessie were sheltered behind the first wagon, panicked horses still straining while George undid the brakes, heeding Veronica's words. He guided the horses forward, using their bodies as a shield as they made their way towards the gateway. John was still pinned down to one side, gunfire sounding every time he tried to move towards the gateway.

"Get through Challenger!" he urged his friend on. "I'll bring the back wagon," the last was shouted over his shoulder as he made a dash for the final wagon.

"John!" Marguerite sobbed as more gunfire ran out, a cry for help rather than one of concern for her husband.

"Marguerite, come with us!" Ned urged her, reaching out to pull her into a sitting position as Veronica helped Arthur into a crouch beside them.

"No! I won't go back there!" Marguerite yelled at him, eyes darting between him and the doorway. She could feel Fate, or the plateau, calling to her through the gateway with promises of a destiny to be fulfilled. Determination not to be a helpless victim overcame her fear. "No, I'm done with it, you hear! All of it!" she slapped Ned's hand aside before dodging sideways and running off into the rapidly settling dusk.

Ned tried to follow her, only to drop to the grass as a rifle shot blew a chip of stone out of the standing stone directly in front of him. He belly-crawled through the grass towards more viable shelter, and the second wagon.

"Ned, you take the horses, I'll go after her!" John called, barely waiting for Ned to scramble up to him and take the reigns before setting off after his wife. For a moment there it had seemed as if his worst fears were about to realize – Challenger was under fire while Marguerite had dashed off into unknown danger. It was the ultimate choice that he feared with his very being. But luck was still with him, and Challenger and Jessie had found shelter, nearing the gateway even as he watched, Arthur at their side. That left John with the only option that was no choice at all: he ran after Marguerite.

Ned clutched at the reigns, digging in for dear life as the horses tried to drag him away. Even amidst the panicked movement in the circle, Ned caught sight of movement from the direction the shots had been fired from.

"They're going after John and Marguerite!" Ned called to his companions.

"I'll take the horses," Veronica appeared at his side just as Jessie disappeared through the portal, Arthur helping her to guide the wagon through. Challenger joined Ned and Veronica after making sure that his wife was safely through and out of harms way.

"What in all blazes is going on here?!" he demanded.

"It seems someone didn't want either Marguerite or John to leave this place," Veronica replied.

"But it's not as if they were going anywhere," Ned protested.

"It might not have appeared that way to an observer," Veronica theorised.

"That doesn't matter – we have to go after them." George stated, moving to the side of the second wagon.

"With what? I have a boot knife, but that's it." Veronica protested.

"With this," Challenger opened one of the long rectangular boxes fixed to the wagon's side. "I thought these might come in handy, I just hadn't realized it would be this soon."

"Good thinking professor!" Ned spared the professor a quick smile, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Wait, we can't all run off leaving the gateway open," Veronica protested.

"You go through and close it behind you," Ned stated, carrying on before Veronica could protest. "Challenger and I will be fine. We'll find John and Marguerite, and sort out whoever's behind this. Open the gateway again tomorrow at dusk, we'll be here."

Ned sounded so confident that Veronica had no choice but to believe him.

"Tomorrow at dusk then, and don't be late," she moved in for a quick kiss before turning back to the gateway.

"Let's go," George led the way outside the circle, scanning for traces of John and Marguerite, and their pursuers, in the rapidly fading light.

* * *

"You fool!" Viviane hissed at Geoffrey. "You might've just ruined everything with that fool shot of yours!"

"I couldn't take the chance that the chosen one might leave. You said so yourself that we had to prevent that from happening at any cost!" Geoffrey defended himself.

"And she was staying! If you could only have felt…" Viviane hissed again in frustration. She had a sense of the chosen one that went beyond the normal five senses available to most humans. And Marguerite had fairly radiated distrust and hatred of the gateway, and everything it represented. Viviane was sure that Marguerite would've stayed, despite what the Protector or any of the others might've said.

"You'd better just hope we can find her before they do," Viviane glared at Geoffrey again. After her abrupt disappearance from the standing stones, she had lost her 'sense' of Marguerite as if the woman had drawn so deeply into herself that not even Viviane could sense her latent abilities.

They couldn't fail - not now - even if it meant hitting the chosen one over the head and dragging her away by force.

* * *

When John finally caught up with Marguerite, she was huddled in under an old tree. It stood a silent watch, tucked in the hollow of an empty field, due east halfway between the stones and the mansion. The sky had clouded over completely by now, flashes of lightning providing barely enough illumination to track her.

"Marguerite." he called softly. Marguerite, it's me, John."

When she didn't acknowledge him, his heart froze for a moment. Had she been hit by one of those wild rifle shots?

Pushing the shrouding tree-boughs aside, he found her huddled amongst the tree routes, arms folded over knees drawn up with her head resting on them.

"Marguerite?" he asked again softly, reaching out to confirm his worst fears.

"I can still feel it John. It's pulling us back, and I can't hold out much longer," Marguerite replied from beneath her curtain of dark hair, voice leaden with fatigue and something else…fear?

John couldn't make sense of what she said, but hunkered down next to her. "Marguerite, it's fine, I'm here now. Whoever was after us is gone, you're safe with me," he urged gently, trying to draw her to him, but she resisted, curled into a tight ball.

"No John, we're not safe. Not here, not on the plateau; nowhere!" she spoke without looking up, anger replacing exhaustion, and radiating off her like heat from a furnace.

"Marguerite, I-" he started, but words escaped him.

"Oh John, I don't know where else to go," displaying another quicksilver turn of emotion, the anger dropped away to make way for an odd vulnerability as she reached out to him with childlike innocence, needing his reassurance now more than ever.

"Shhh, it's all right Marguerite," he held on to her tightly, unsure of how else to comfort her. Or more to the point, how to make things right.

Approaching footsteps finally shook him from his reverie. Holding a finger to his lips at Marguerite's questioning glance, John crouched, ready to take on whatever was approaching their hideout.

"Ned, George!" he breathed out a sigh of relief. "We're in here," he pulled some of the boughs aside and stepped out as his friends moved closer.

"Did you see anyone?" he asked, his gaze flicking to their rifles. What he wouldn't give to have one of those in his hands right now.

"No, only your tracks, and Marguerites," Ned answered, sweeping his gaze around to make sure they weren't in for any surprises. John briefly spared a thought of praise for the lad's actions. No, not a lad any more; but a man.

"Whoever was firing at you seems to have moved off, or lost your trail," Challenger continued.

"That's good to hear, but I'm still glad to see you're armed." John nodded at the rifles after conducting a scan of the surrounding area himself. Some habits were too hard to break.

"Is Marguerite all right?" Ned asked.

"Shaken, but unharmed," John confirmed.

"Are you sure? That looks like blood to me," George reached for John's upper arm.

John looked down, surprise evident as he found a smear of blood and a rip in his shirt. "Must've happened when I dived to the ground."

"Or maybe one of those rifle shots came too close for comfort." Ned argued.

"Can you two make it back to the house?" George queried, unable to shake the feeling that he was still being watched.

"We can." John ducked back beneath the boughs, trying to coax Marguerite out. She wouldn't budge at first, and it took a lot of patience and gentle persuasion before she would finally come out.

Marguerite was convinced she must look quite a mess, and she was right. Her dress was muddied from a number of falls in her wild flight, hair in disarray around a pale face. She hardly looked at the men around her, but rather concentrated on the ground at her feet as if her life depended on it.

Ned had been about to ask her what led her to make such a foolhardy move, but reconsidered his words quickly. Whatever had driven Marguerite into her headlong, it must've been terrible. Was she truly that scared of the plateau?

Any further questions had to wait as they started off back towards the mansion. And as if to add insult to injury, the skies opened up and splattered them soft rain.

* * *

"It can't be," Viviane spoke with dismay as a golden glow appeared behind them. She might've missed it, if she hadn't turned around to scan the horizon for any sign of movement. So far both Marguerite and John were eluding her, and with the rain limiting their visibility, they'd lost whatever track Geoffrey had assured her they were following.

"What?" Geoffrey turned around.

"It's the gate, it's opening again. They must've doubled back." Viviane groaned.

"Why? I thought you said there was no way the chosen one would go through it voluntarily."

"What if she's not! What if during her wild run she fell and hit her head? What if they were better trackers than you and found her lying there unconscious? Would they risk going back to the mansion or rather through the gateway to where they could be sure she was safe?" Viviane's fists were clenched at her side.

"Let's go see then!" Geoffrey started to move off in the direction of the glow, only to watch it fade before his eyes.

"Too late," Viviane spoke as the glow of power faded while they watched in dismay.

"Perhaps it was only the Protector, we don't know for sure my lady!" Geoffrey's voice held a hint of desperation as if he realized for the first time in just how much trouble he truly was.

"Maybe. Let's check the mansion," Viviane was willing to cling to that last bit of hope.

They returned to the mansion, only to find it an empty hulk waiting for a lord and lady that was unlikely to ever return.

"Ruined, all our plans…ruined," Viviane's fury was palpable.

"Not necessarily my lady. They might return in a day or so…" He trailed off under Viviane's icy gaze.

"Do you honestly think they'd be foolish enough to come back to an unknown situation where who knows what dangers may lie in wait? No Geoffrey, if they have any sense they will be hiding out on the plateau, and out of our reach." Viviane's eyes blazed with fury. The orobouros had been their only reliable way of reaching the plateau, and that was destroyed by Veronica just before she assumed her full responsibilities as Protector.

"But-"

"But nothing Geoffrey. You've done more than your fair share already," Viviane stepped closer, effortlessly slipping the needle-point blade between the manservant's ribs and into his heart. Failure had a price, and she was damned if she was going to be the only one to pay for it. Once she had regained some of her composure, Viviane had to concede that perhaps Geoffrey had been right. To her knowledge, no-one had identified her or the newly deceased butler, so perhaps…

* * *

It was a tired but relieved grouped that finally reached the relative safety of the mansion. John's head was pounding with another headache, his legs weak from what should've been only a mild exertion for such an active man.

"Do you think it safe to go in?" George asked as they crouched in the shadows of the garden. Most of the lights were off, and there was no movement that they could sea from their vantage point.

"I'll go and have a look," John volunteered.

"Here, take my rifle," Ned handed over his weapon.

"And be careful," Marguerite whispered, clutching at his arm. He smiled at her, glad to see she was once more aware of her surroundings again. She'd been very quiet during their return, and John doubted it was purely from exhaustion. Taking a deep breath, he willed away his own exhaustion. Someone had to scout the mansion, and he was the only logical choice for the job. He scouted around the outside first before moving inside, leaving the lights turned off. He knew his way around the place well enough not to need it, and more importantly, it would alert anyone who might be watching as to their presence.

"No sign of anyone," he reported upon his return. The mansion was dead quiet, most of the servants already having left for home. But of Geoffrey and Mrs Laffey, who lived in the house, there was no trace.

John led the way back inside, rifle still in his hands as Marguerite followed, Ned and Challenger closely behind her. They were just entering through the kitchen door when a shadowy figure appeared from the nearby shrubs.

John had his rifle levelled, ready to pull the trigger when he recognised the silhouette.

"Veronica! What are you doing here," his anger was evident, even though he spoke in a whisper.

"I thought we agreed that you would only come back tomorrow," Ned was as upset.

"You couldn't honestly expect me to sit around with no idea what had happened to you!" Veronica argued back in a strained whisper.

"Standing out here arguing is not helping either. Let's get inside," George urged them inside in to the relative safety of the house.

They settled in one of the unoccupied bedrooms, exchanging observations and questions as they tried to sort out what was going on. Someone was obviously after Marguerite or John, and desperate enough to shoot at them in order to … what? Outright murder did not appear to be feasible, but none of the other options postulated made sense. The conversation wound down, and John finally found himself nodding off, exhaustion overcoming his earlier rush of adrenalin.

"Sleep, we'll keep watch," Veronica assured him when he tried to find a position on the plush chair that would allow him to stay more alert.

"Almost like old times, eh?" he gave a hollow chuckle. "Although I must admit I never thought I'd be doing this in my family home."

"Life's full of surprises," Veronica gave him a reassuring smile. He had been acting odd on both occasions she'd seen him recently, but the man before her right now was much more like the John Roxton she came to know.

John joined Marguerite where she was lying on the double bed, curled up on her side in the same position sleep had overtaken her an hour or so before. He lay down next to her, curling himself around her. A part of him longed to wake her, to make sure that she was all right, while another part granted her the peaceful sleep she seemed to have found. His eyelids drifted close but somehow he couldn't fall into a proper sleep, and instead drowsed through the remaining hours till daybreak.

"Staff's arriving." Challenger's quiet announcement was barely out before John was sitting up, wide awake.

"Let's go see who might look more than a bit surprised to find us here, and in one piece," John stood up. Marguerite blinked drowsily as his comforting presence disappeared from her back, sitting up slowly to look around her.

Almost as if she's trying to convince herself that she's really here, Veronica thought. She was more worried about Marguerite than she wanted to admit. All throughout their experiences on the plateau the woman had never so much as blinked when the situation seemed dire. But now it seemed as if she was barely hanging on "I'll stay here with Marguerite," the blond woman volunteered, hoping to draw the other woman into a conversation that might clarify matters. "Better to keep whoever is after us in the dark about my presence."

"Agreed," Ned spoke, Challenger nodding in agreement before they followed John; leaving the two women to lock the door behind them. They didn't dare march around with rifles at the ready; and instead paid a quick visit to John's weapons locker and equipped themselves with guns easily hidden under their jackets.

* * *

If the housekeeping staff were at all surprised to see their lord and some of his guests moving about in the early morning light, looking as if they'd slept in their clothes, they were either innocent or too well-mannered to act on it.

Instead they went about their daily routines, greeting their employer pleasantly when they caught sight of him. When questioned, they seemed as confused about the disappearance of Geoffrey and Mrs Laffey, and could provide no information as to the cause.

"That does it, I'm searching their rooms," John was edgy with frustration, and his headache was back again and threatening to get worse. He had just opened the door to Geoffrey's rooms when the gardener came running for him.

"Sir! Sir, you've got to come see this." If the size of the gardener's eyes were anything to go by, it was not a tenacious weed that was responsible for his current state.

"I'll take a look inside," Ned volunteered when John moved to follow the gardener.

"I'll go with you John," Challenger proposed, not willing to let John go outside on his own while the attackers from the previous night were still running loose.

The gardener led them outside and towards a remote corner of the garden where a suspicious shape lay hidden under a tarp.

"It's Geoffrey, sir!" the gardener explained; the sweat beading on his forehead had nothing to do with the early morning sunshine. "I came in to check on the roses this morning, and I found him here. It looks like he just dropped dead, sir."

John stepped closer, yanking the tarp aside. It was indeed a very dead Geoffrey that lay in a furrow before him. The butler was not dressed in his normal house outfit, but rather in clothes suitable for an outdoor hike, muddy boots and all. Could he have been one of the people involved in the shooting last night? John found it hard to digest; Geoffrey had been with the family for as long as he could remember.

Challenger crouched down, taking a closer look at the body. He couldn't find anything suspicious, and was about to suggest heart-attack as the cause of death when he spotted the tiny hole in the shirt-front, and a few drops of blood. Wordlessly he raised his eyes to John, mouthing the word 'murder' when he was sure the gardener's attention was not on them.

"Thank you Robert, we'll take it from here. Why don't you go back and make yourself a cup of tea while we contact the police." John offered in reassuring tones.

"Of course sir," the gardener was only too glad to be allowed to leave.

"How?" John minced no words when the gardener was safely out of earshot.

"My guess would be a thin, sharp object like stiletto knife. Obviously wielded by someone who knew what they were doing."

"An assassin?"

"If so, it wasn't the same person who fired at you last night. Their aim left much to be desired."

"That means the danger isn't over yet," John stated as he scanned the area as if he expected the other attacker to appear out of nowhere. "Whether Geoffrey was an unwilling participant or not, we're still looking at more than one attacker."

"Agreed. Let's get inside." George also kept a nervous eye out for any hint of danger as they hurried back to the house.

They were barely inside when Robert rushed up to them, a tearful serving girl in tow. "There's more sir!" Robert announced, still out of breath. "We found the housekeeper sir, she was locked up in the cellar." Robert gestured towards the maid beside him. "Sarah found her when she unlocked the door to fetch some cheese. Tell him," Robert nudged the maid.

She was a relatively new girl, and bobbed nervously while she relayed her tale. "It was horrible sir, the poor Mrs Laffey lying there all unconscious. At first I thought she must've fallen and maybe broken her neck, but then I thought, why would she lock the door behind her? And then.."

"Thank you Sarah," John cut her short, laying a calming hand on her shoulder. "Let's go see if Mrs Laffey can shed some more light on the situation."

* * *

They found the missing housekeeper on an old rocking chair in the kitchen, a blanket tucked around her shoulders while the remaining staff fluttered around her like nervous chickens. She sat with her eyes closed, a damp towel on her neck and a glass no doubt containing sugar water held loosely in her right hand while weak morning sunlight only served to highlight her pallor.

"Mrs Laffey?" John crouched down next to her, shocked to see the woman he'd gotten to know as a strong individual reduced to a pale shadow of her former self.

"My lord?" she opened her eyes, her voice trembling.

"Yes Mrs Laffey. Can you tell me what happened?" John urged gently.

"Oh, it was terrible my lord," her eyes brimmed with tears as she relayed her tale. It had a while after the lord and lady had left with their friends. All the other servants had been dismissed for the evening, and Geoffrey had just joined her for a cup of tea when three dark-haired men with rough features arrived. At first she'd thought they might be travellers who'd lost their way, but when they raised their voices and began shoving around Geoffrey who'd answered the door, she knew they were trouble. They forced their way inside, apparently looking for lord Roxton, and were very upset to find that he was not at home. They threatened to hurt her, and Geoffrey was forced to reveal which way the lord and his friends had departed, even though he assured them he didn't know the intended destination.

"They said they didn't trust Geoffrey to lead them astray sir, so they locked me in the cellar and threatened to harm me if he didn't help. I guess I must've slipped in the dark and hit my head. But poor Geoffrey, sir, he had no choice. And I fear for his safety." The last bit came out in a fearful whisper, tears finally spilling from the corners of her dark eyes.

John and George shared a look. Mrs Laffey had been right to fear for Geoffrey's safety, and the worst had come to pass.

"Nobody blames you or Geoffrey, Mrs Laffey. You did the best you could." John took a deep breath before breaking the news of Geoffrey's death as gently as he could. The housekeeper dissolved in helpless sobs as she learnt the fate of her companion.

The more John learnt of the previous night's events, the more worried he became.

* * *

Marguerite was fully awake now, but instead of showing signs of improvement, she was now pacing the room like a caged tiger.

Veronica had seen her in a similar mood before, and was afraid that any polite enquiry on her side would result in nothing more than a snide remark in reply. But she had to try.

"Not quite the way I had things planned," Veronica said in an ironic tone of voice, a half-smile on her lips.

Marguerite froze, frame stiffening even more as she pursed her lips in anger. Without replying to or even looking at Veronica, she resumed her pacing. How dare she? In fact, what was Veronica even doing in the same room? Shouldn't she be off somewhere swinging through tree-tops, righting wrongs and whatever else it was a protector was supposed to do? Preferably as far away from her - and John - as possible. Marguerite fumed internally as her measured paces took her from wall to wall.

She could still feel it; the sense that everything was in a state of flux around her. Any spoken word, or the smallest gesture, felt as if it echoed too loudly in her mind; like the repeating echo of expensive crystal shattering on the ground. When she closed her eyes it felt as if a jumbled collection of moments and events were flickering around her at the same time, like a number of picture shows being played at once while set at slightly different speeds. A lifetime worth of choices vying for her attention, fighting to be seen and heard while her carefully crafted life was falling apart around her ears.

If this was what destiny sounded like when it came knocking, Marguerite wished it never found her address. It was all the plateau's fault! And Veronica's; her and her motley group of do-good followers! Marguerite's anger was not truly directed at the people around her, but rather the situation she was in. She tried to convince herself that she was dreading the moment when whatever event would set her down a certain course of action would occur, when in fact she rather feared that the choice had already been made.

Before Veronica could think of another approach, the door opened to allow George, Ned and John to enter. Marguerite released a pent up breath that she wasn't even aware that she had been holding, glad to see that John was safe. And the others, a very small part of her added.

"They found Mrs Laffey locked in the cellar. She's badly shaken and suffered a bump on her head from a fall in the dark, but otherwise she's all right." John explained in curt tones, his eyes on Marguerite while he hovered near the door. "Geoffrey wasn't so lucky though. Robert, our gardener, found his body in the garden."

"Murdered, stabbed through the heart," Challenger expounded at the others astonished looks.

"Poor man," Veronica sympathised.

"So it seems," Ned didn't sound completely convinced. "Professor, I found this stashed away in an inside pocket of his butler's uniform, or whatever you call it," Ned extracted a small object about the size of his palm, wrapped in white cloth. "It was wrapped like this when I found it, but there's an opening at one end with a stopper. From the sounds of it there's some kind of liquid inside," Ned explained as he began to undo the carefully tied wrapping. The object finally lay revealed in his hand, an opaque glass bottle with a corked opening. Ned reached down to hand the bottle over to the professor, but froze as soon as his hand grasped the bottle.

"Catch him!" Veronica dashed forward, as Ned stiffened and began to topple. Together with Challenger she eased Ned to the ground, John grabbing the bottle before it could crash to the ground.

"What's happening?" Marguerite asked as she stepped closer, concern in her voice.

"A vision?" George looked at Veronica for confirmation as they crouched by Ned's insensible form. The young man twitched as if he was in the throes of a bad nightmare.

"Yes," Veronica's clenched her fists to keep her from fluttering her hands helplessly over Ned. No matter how many times she'd seen this, it always left her feeling completely useless when the visions took hold of Ned.

Barely a few heartbeats later Ned's blue eyes flew open to fix on John. "Poison," his voice was hoarse as he uttered the damning word. "Some sort of lead compound."

"What?" George asked as he and Veronica eased Ned into a sitting position.

"The butler, Geoffrey, he was slowly poisoning John. With that," he nodded towards the bottle John still held in his hand.

"Me?" John couldn't believe his ears as he looked at his friends. "And why? He's been with my family for ages."

Marguerite's eyes widened in shock, her husband's odd behaviour and mysterious health problems suddenly making sense. She should've guessed! After all, when she was still working as …Marguerite quickly squashed that thought. Anger flared again as the reality of the situation struck home. How dare anyone poison John! And in their own home by someone they trusted!

"I'm afraid that answer may have died with him," Veronica frowned.

"Or perhaps not. Why would an apparently loyal servant suddenly begin to poison his employer? There's no obvious gain for him, unless…" George tugged at his beard. "Unless he was being coerced by someone who had their own agenda for incapacitating you."

"Incapacitating?" Ned was puzzled, his thoughts still fuzzy after the vision.

"If the purpose was to kill John with a single dosage, the butler was hardly likely to carry the evidence around in his work coat. No, I rather suspect that if I were to analyze this I would find a chemical substance that is intended for long-term exposure through pre-set dosages."

"And run the risk of exposure? I find that a little hard to believe," Veronica queried the professor's explanation.

"Not if you want to make it look natural," Marguerite surprised everyone with her comment.

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence as everyone remembered her history as a spy during the Great War, and her reputation as the 'Black Widow of Vienna', reputed to have poisoned more than one husband in order to inherit their riches.

"Even if Geoffrey was involved, then why shoot at us last night?" John raised the question that was bothering him. "All they accomplished was letting us in on the fact that someone was out after Marguerite and me."

"Mostly you, I think," Veronica nodded at the bottle still he still held onto. John hurried placed the bottle on the nearest flat surface, eager to distance himself from the very thing that had caused so much harm over the past few months.

"Agreed. Perhaps desperation drove them to change their plans and attempt a decisive act." Challenger theorised.

"But what would cause that sudden desperation? I mean, it's not like we were going anywhere," Marguerite shrugged, arms folded defensively.

"Of course! This does lend credence to Ned's theory that Geoffrey wasn't merely an innocent victim."

"George, you're making even less sense than usual," Marguerite shook her head.

"No, I think you have the answer right there Marguerite. What if the intent was to keep you and John here, slowly poisoning him to either dispose of at a later stage, or keep him in a weakened state indefinitely? Then supplies and mysterious crates begin to appear, which you keep under lock and key until the very people who accompanied you on a previous expedition show up one by one. My guess is they feared that you might be on the verge of departing as well, and decided to prevent it by any means possible, including your murder." George explained. "And your butler might've been a quisling, either bribed or forced into helping them.

"I can't believe I never suspected … well, any of this," John gestured in frustration. "And to what point? I don't know George, I find it hard to believe that someone would only be after me," John frowned.

"Don't underestimate yourself, John." Marguerite stepped to his side, her grey-green eyes earnest in their gaze.

"I agree, but you may also have been the means to an end – the chosen one." Veronica suggested.

Marguerite drew a breath in preparation for a comment, but kept quiet instead, her mouth thinning to a determined line.

"A possibility indeed, but I hesitate to offer any further speculation on the matter. Without obtaining more evidence, that is," George had a faraway look in his eyes that suggested that although he wasn't about to offer more comment, his mind was still fixed on the problem and examining it from every possible angle.

Whether George wanted to speculate or not, everyone's thoughts were on the same issue. Whoever was after John, and apparently Marguerite, wanted to keep them from leaving. They seemed to have a network of spies watching the lord and lady Roxton, and even succeeded in placing at least one spy in the household. But what were they planning next, or even more frighteningly, what contingency plan might already be underway. Whatever they may be planning, at least their existence was not a secret any longer. It was a tricky situation for both sides, no-one sure of their opponent's next move, but one thing was for sure, things could not remain as they were.

"Well, while we're waiting for whoever is behind this to reveal themselves, I'm going to take a bath and get out of these filthy clothes," Marguerite was the first to move.

"Marguerite, you can't-" John began, but stopped mid-sentence when Marguerite drew herself up and fixed him with a determined look.

"I can't _what_, John? Move around in my own house? I will not be forced to cower in one of the closets until someone else decides what we should do. Besides, I always think better when I'm not running around in sodden clothes." Without waiting for his answer, she strode past him and out the door.

John moved to follow her, but Challenger intercepted him.

"She's right John. We cannot remain here indefinitely. Veronica, Ned and I will have to leave soon."

John knew full well that Challenger's comment hinted at, and it was not an issue that would be easily resolved. Especially not, considering that it would have to be a joint decision Marguerite.

"We'll leave at sunset, just as we planned last night." Veronica confirmed George's words.

"If... if we do … if I can-" John hesitated and finally gave up with a sigh, finding it too difficult to even voice the possibility.

"A few more days John, that's all. I'm sorry." Veronica's regret was sincere, but with the new evidence at hand, it was even more important for her to cut the plateau off as soon as possible.

John gave a grateful nod before disappearing after his wife.

"Right now I would hate to be in his shoes," Ned offered with a wry smile.

"Just now?" George also smiled briefly before turning to Veronica. "I did not want to mention it in front of Marguerite, as upset as she was, but I have my suspicions as to who might be behind this."

"Me too," Veronica sank down on the edge of the bed. "Mordren's line."

It was the only thing that made sense, and as the discussion continued, something that all three of them agreed on. Mordren's line – his family in internal opposition to Veronica's line of protectors – was after Marguerite. The attacks appeared to be directly aimed at John, at killing him or permanently removing him from Marguerite's side. He was the chosen one's guardian after all, and without him at her side she would be most vulnerable. Who knew what they had planned for her in the longer term, or any offspring that would have a pivotal role to play at the end of the next cycle of power.

"This is not going to be easy," Ned mused again, looking at the door through which their two friends had so recently departed.

* * *

Marguerite's anger fuelled her walk towards her destination, and she slammed the bedroom door behind her with a force that left no doubt she wished to be alone right now. She stormed into the bathroom, opening both bath taps fully and watched as the water gushed forth, hoping that the noise would drown out her thoughts. It didn't work though, and she began to yank off her clothes, unable to stand the feel of them against her skin any longer. If only she could get rid of the real problems so easily. If only they would leave her in peace, she thought. 'They' included everyone and everything that seemed intent on ruining the life for which she'd worked so hard. All she wanted to do was bask in John's love, living the life she'd always thought she ought to have, but never deserved. And now…

Marguerite froze as she slid off her top, her eyes caught by the reflection of her birthmark in the mirror behind her. Some things you could never get rid of, no matter what you did. And some battles you were doomed to loose, before you even began. The anger and frustration that had driven her up to this point disappeared in a rush. She sank to the floor as despair rushed in to fill its place, threatening to overwhelm her. There was nothing she could do, nowhere left to run.

However fast you ran, destiny was always there first. Waiting for you.

* * *

John carefully opened the bedroom door, prepared to duck just in case Marguerite was still angry enough to consider demonstrating her displeasure by throwing things about.

There was no sign of her in the bedroom, so he moved towards the bathroom where he could hear the sound of running water. The door wasn't closed, and he walked in to find Marguerite slumped in a dejected bundle, leaning against the bathtub for support.

He rushed forward to kneel at her side, but she didn't acknowledge him, her expression vacant as her eyes remained fixed on a non-existent point somewhere on the bathroom wall.

"Marguerite," John called softly, experiencing an odd sense of déjà vu for the second time in less than a full day. But whereas previously she had been taught with barely suppressed fear or anger, now there was a curious aura of numbness about her.

With no obvious signs of trauma visible, John spared a moment to lean over and close off the taps before the nearly full bath overflowed. How long had she been sitting here like this?

"Marguerite, what's wrong?" he placed himself directly in her field of vision, trying to break whatever it was that had a hold on her awareness.

Her eyes finally focused on him, but it felt like a small eternity before she spoke in a tone of voice that broke his heart.

"We have to go back, don't we?" Her large eyes were desperately seeking the denial she knew he couldn't give.

Now it was John's turn to be shocked into silence as she took the wind from his sails; no need to query what she meant with the word 'back'. While he was making his way here he had rehearsed the many arguments and reasons he could use to persuade her, or at least try to make her see reason. They could no longer remain on the estate, in fact, their safety could not be guaranteed anywhere, and they had no choice but to flee for their lives. At least on the plateau, with the Protector close by and the help of their friends, they stood a fighting chance.

"Yes." That single admission cost him more than he would ever admit. He had failed his wife, the love of his life and his reason for living. He had promised to keep her safe here, away from the plateau and all the ghosts of her past. And he had failed.

Marguerite closed her eyes, dropping her head as she let out the breath she had been holding.

John didn't know what to expect – an outburst of renewed anger, sobs of despair or stony silence. Instead Marguerite surprised him again.

"Then I guess I'd better start packing."

* * *

Marguerite was not about to go quietly though, and refused to join John when he went to see off the others that evening. At the circle, the goodbyes were made quickly as Veronica and the others would return for a final time in four days.

If she could have her way, Veronica would've bundled John and Marguerite through the gate right there and then, not just for their sake, but also everyone else's. Unfortunately John and Marguerite couldn't just disappear without a trace – it would draw too much attention, and besides, they had other responsibilities to take care of first: the inheritance of the estate, the staff and livestock, not to mention hastily acquiring whatever they think they might need for their permanent move to the plateau. It would be a tense few days to say the least, but staying safe meant behaving like the traumatised lord and lady they were supposed to be.

Over the next few days, police inspectors came and went as they investigated the butler's murder and attack on Mrs Laffey. Of the events at the stone ring no-one breathed a word, and the police soon disappeared, the case still open but with no leads forthcoming they were unable to make any arrests or even find the suspects described by Mrs Laffey. John and Marguerite put out word that they were setting out on an ocean cruise aboard one of the luxury liners, both to recover from the brutal violence on their estate, and in hopes of bettering his lordship's health – his headaches and insomnia being no surprise to the staff. It provided the perfect ruse for them to attend to legal matters in town, while purchasing a variety of supplies and materials necessary for their 'journey'.

It was an exhausted soon to be ex-lord Roxton that returned from his final visit to the lawyers the day before their departure. He and Marguerite had certain documentation put in place that would only become valid once it was apparent that they were gone for good. It was fine and well to make preparations to depart forever, but what if one of their children, or even great grand-children were to return one day? As far as possible, they had placed contingency measures in place, although only time would prove it either way.

When John arrived at the steps leading up to the front door, Mrs Laffey was there waiting for him as he opened the door.

"Sir, could I have a word with you?" The housekeeper wasn't quite tapping her foot in frustration, but John could sense her barely controlled anger a mile off.

"Of course Mrs Laffey. What about?" John wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and enjoy his last night's sleep in his family home.

"It's the lady, my lord. I beg you, for all of our sanities, please tell her where you are taking her on this … holiday," Mrs Laffey sighed heavily, making it clear that she did not hold with this traipsing about the world.

"That would sort of ruin the surprise Mrs Laffey," John drawled, wondering what Marguerite had gotten up to now. It was Marguerite who had come up with the idea of an ocean cruise, possibly with an extended stay at wherever they were headed. John had to allow that it was a clever scheme, allowing them to take quite a bit of baggage that might otherwise arouse suspicion. But she had taken it further, making it known that it was a surprise from John, and that she had no idea where they were going or for how long. There was a bite of truth to her words, and John had to keep himself from wincing every time he heard it. Over the last few days he had even purchased tickets at a nearby travel office to make it seem a legitimate voyage, and Marguerite had all but run the staff ragged fetching this, purchasing that and packing nearly everything in site. Of course, she could defend her actions by saying that she was but an ignorant participant in the planned voyage, and had to try and cater for every possible situation she might find herself in, whether it be dancing with the captain aboard the ship or traipsing around the countryside if her famous wildlife-hunter husband should fancy a spot of trophy hunting. John had to admit that she was playing the spoilt and excited rich lady to the hilt, and perhaps a little further.

"I realize that her ladyship wishes to be prepared, but really sir, the servants are exhausted and it appears that she wants to take content of the household with her!" Mrs Laffey eyes widened as she realized that her outburst was unseemly for a housekeeper. "My apologies sir, I guess I'm just a tad overwrought as well. And worried about my lord and my lady off on their own for goodness knows how long."

Considering recent events, and the possibility of another spy in their midst, John wondered at the exact reason for her worry. To all appearances, Mrs Laffey had been an innocent victim of the recent violence on the estate, but then again, appearances can be deceiving.

"Let me go upstairs and speak to Marguerite, and I'll see what I can do." Mrs Laffey's frustration with Marguerite's travel preparations seemed genuine however.

"Thank you sir," Mrs Laffey bobbed a curtsey before gliding off.

John dragged himself upstairs and towards their bedroom, nearly slamming into the door when it refused to budge more than a foot as he opened it.

"Marguerite!" Fear clutched at his heart, and he blamed himself for foolishly leaving Marguerite on her own while he rushed off to town.

"In here John!" She called form inside the room. "Hang on, I just have to move something…" Followed by sounds of something heavy being dragged away and subdued cursing as it bumped into something else.

"What is…" John's eyes widened in shock when he finally managed to squeeze through the door. Every available surface in the bedroom that was not filled by hulking suitcases or trunks was strewn with clothes, jewellery and other personal items of Marguerite.

"Don't gawk John, it makes you look silly." Marguerite berated him whilst folding a satin item of some sort into a neat package and placing it in the open trunk before her.

"Marguerite, you can't be serious. There's no way we can take all of this!" John gingerly made his way through the maze of obstacles towards his wife after closing the door behind him with some effort.

Pausing halfway through folding the next item, Marguerite turned to pin him with an steely glare that threw sparks. "Lord Roxton, just because _you_ can run off anywhere after slinging a canteen over your shoulder and shoving your favourite hat on your head, _don't_ for a moment think that I'm willing to do the same. If you're expecting me to abandon civilization for goodness knows how long, damn well I'm going to take as much of it with me as I can!"

"Yes, but … all of this?!" John gestured vaguely, still unable to believe his eyes.

"Of course. Well, don't just stand there; you have some packing to do too." And with that Marguerite turned her back on him, humming as she continued to select items to pack. Throwing his hands up in resignation, John turned around and headed downstairs again. Suddenly the small truck he'd hired to transport their luggage to the 'ship' didn't seem nearly big enough any more.

A short while later Mrs Laffey poked her head in upstairs only to be firmly but politely told to make herself useful elsewhere. The housekeeper fumed as she made her way downstairs. Tomorrow Marguerite and her watchdog would disappear for who knows how long. She'd begged, hinted and cajoled, but was unable to get even so much as a hint of their plans from either of them. In fact, it had cost her rifling through his lordship's study two days ago to find out the name and departure details of the vessel they were about to embark on. It had taken considerable family resources, but her niece Jennifer was now booked aboard the same vessel with her brother Gavin. Perhaps she would succeed where Viviane had so far failed, approaching Marguerite on equal terms rather than a servant befriending her mistress. Viviane had to be very careful, balanced on the delicate point between overplaying her hand to reveal too much, and missing opportunities that might never arise again.

Two days later, when it became apparent that the chosen one and her guardian had slipped out of their grasp forever, her screams could almost be heard all the way to the plateau.

* * *

It was time.

A blanketing fog had spread itself over the estate during the night, uncharacteristically persisting during the day making familiar shapes ghostly and the location of objects outside uncertain.

The truck was packed, its narrow frame specifically chosen by John so it could fit between the stones at the Watchers. Once on the plateau, the truck would be useless, but there was no way he could substantiate a horse-drawn wagon to facilitate their journey into town, and then onto a train to take them down to their port of departure.

The hours were ticking past, and John was filled with an odd mixture of excitement and reluctance. Now that the choice had been made, he looked forward to going back to the plateau – truthfully, a part of him had never been able to settle down and accept that all his adventures were over.

And speaking of which, there was one last item he had to take with.

"There you are," Marguerite closed her hand luggage quickly and walked up to him when he entered their bedroom, a mischievous expression on her face. As she sauntered closer, her hips swayed in a very distracting manner while she clasped her hands behind her back in a very good approximation of innocence.

"I was just coming up to find you." John smiled, approaching the situation with care. While Marguerite had apparently accepted their fate, and acted like the excited person she was supposed to be while they were preparing for their vacation, John was not taking anything at face value. What was the woman up to now? "Are you ready to go?"

Marguerite's face fell for a moment and she looked away, studying the room as if trying to memorize every detail. Taking a deep breath, she turned to John, holding out her left hand. "With you at my side, always."

Instead of answering, John leaned in for a long kiss, reluctantly drawing away after a few moments. "Everyone is waiting downstairs to say goodbye." He referred to the staff.

"Either that, or waiting to see who is going to win the bet." Marguerite grinned.

"What bet?"

"You mean you don't know?!" Marguerite's smile widened. "Everyone has placed a wager on how long the truck will survive. Some think it won't even get past the muddy driveway, while others think it'll just topple over at the first corner." She laughed at John's consternation. He had been busy into the wee hours of the night packing and repacking the truck to make sure he could fit their entire luggage.

"And you? What did you wager?" John asked, also smiling now as he pictured the poor truck.

"Me? Why Lord John Roxton… a lady never wagers. At least not on a sure thing." She leaned forward to pat his cheek. "It may not be the brightest or newest little truck, but it will get me where I need to go."

"Little?!" John managed to get out when Marguerite moved away to collect the last bag that she insisted on keeping with her. Still smiling, they made their way downstairs.

It was an oddly poignant scene, the family retainers both old and new there to bid their employer and his lady goodbye. If only they knew the truth, John mused when they finally pulled away amidst waves and good wishes. Mrs Laffey still looked a bit tense around the eyes, but that was her problem. John cast a last regretful look at the manor before turning his eyes forward, to the road ahead.

* * *

The truck did not fall over, or get stuck, but manoeuvring it along the bumpy country lanes proved quite a challenge.

"Are you sure you know where you're going," Marguerite asked for the millionth time as she snuggled deeper into her jacket. The mist had a way of penetrating even inside the truck's cabin, spreading a damp chill all around.

"I am," he confirmed, leaning forward in an unconscious attempt to make anything out beyond a few feet ahead of the truck's front bumper. The trip was taking longer than he'd anticipated, even taking into account that they had to travel via back ways to avoid being spotted by anyone. There was no way he was going to rush ahead and perhaps terminally delay their departure though.

Marguerite withdrew into silence again, apprehension returning now that the inevitable was drawing closer.

When they arrived at the stones, Veronica and the rest were already waiting.

"Now I know why I dislike England so much," Arthur was heard to comment while they exchanged greetings.

Veronica flashed him a smile, also eager to be away from this place. She glanced around, trying to reassure herself that they were safe, and failing. When she turned back to the others, she was surprised to find Marguerite standing next to her.

"Let's get his over with, before I change my mind," the brunette offered in clipped tones. Veronica nodded, holding out her hands.

The women repeated the clasped gesture they had used previously, and a glow of power soon formed around them, once again coalescing in an amorphous doorway to one side.

The two women separated to stand on either side of the path leading up to the doorway.

"Let's go!" George called as Veronica and Arthur stepped through first, followed by Ned.

Here George, you take her through. We'll follow," John spoke as he lightly dropped down from the truck's cab.

George opened his mouth in protest, but then closed it and nodded instead. As much as they needed to get moving, perhaps John and Marguerite needed those last few moments here, alone.

"Don't be too long," he called softly to John, tipping his hat in salute before driving the chugging truck through the gateway.

Marguerite moved closer to stand in front of the gateway as the truck disappeared, hand luggage clutched in her right hand. John walked up to her side and took hold of her left hand, just 'being' there with her for a moment.

"Where do we go from here John?" she asked, eyes focused on the rippling glow of the doorway.

There was so much more to that small question, to which he hoped they could have a lifetime worth of answers.

"Wherever the journey takes us Marguerite," he finally replied, his voice pitched low for her ears only.

She turned her head to look at him, squeezing his hand as they locked eyes.

"We have to go," he broke their intimate silence.

"Just one more thing," she released his hand to dig around in her luggage. "Frankly I'm surprised you even considered leaving without this," with a flourish, she produced the faithful hat that had accompanied him throughout their crazy adventures on the plateau. "Can't leave home without your lucky charm Lord Roxton." She smiled, sadness lingering in her eyes as she placed the hat on his head.

John gave a short laugh when the hat appeared. He had looked or it when he had time, but in the crazy rush of the past few days he had thought it permanently lost.

"I already have all I need right here," he smiled at her, reaching for her hand again.

Casting one last look of farewell over their shoulders, they stepped through the gateway and back to the plateau to continue the journey they started four years ago.

_The End_

…_or rather…The beginning of the rest_


End file.
